The One Where Mercury Continues
by Jana
Summary: A continuation of a fic entitled 'Mercury', written by: Ezika. Continued with permission. How will the friends, especially Chandler, react to Monica's suicide attempt?
1. Default Chapter

The One Where Mercury Continues

Original story by: Ezika

Continued with permission. Thanks, Ezika!

Continuation by: Jana~

(link to Ezika's original story, 'Mercury' can be found below)

--Chandler paced nervously, never more scared in his life at that moment. The wait was torturous, and he actually felt as if he might lose his mind.

When Ross and Rachel ran up to him upon spotting him, with Phoebe and Joey close behind, the resolve he held onto by a thread snapped, causing him to fall to pieces.

"Chandler! What happened?!" Ross asked with frantic concern.

"I didn't think-- I tried-- I couldn't-" Chandler made no sense, his emotions on overload, his sobs making speech difficult.

"Take a breath, sweetie," Phoebe spoke soothingly, trying to calm him. "Tell us what happened."

"Depressed," he finally said. "I tried! I tried to help her! She didn't want me to tell anyone! I thought I was doing the right thing! I thought I could help-" He broke down, crashing to his knees as sobs racked through his body.

"Why was she depressed?" Rachel asked, tears streaming down her face as she watched Chandler fall apart.

"It's more than just because of Richard," Ross asked, "Isn't it?"

Chandler nodded, his face in his hands. "She had a miscarriage." His voice trembled. "Richard's baby."

"Oh my God," Rachel gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Is that why she's here?" Joey asked, to which Chandler shook his head 'no'.

"Why is she here, Chandler?" Ross asked firmly, wanting answers, dreading them as well.

"She tried to kill herself tonight," he whispered, removing his face from his hands to lean forward, his forehead touching the cool tile of the hospital waiting room floor.

"What?!" Ross screeched.

"Oh my God!" Phoebe exclaimed, and her and Rachel both grabbed onto each other for support.

"What?" Joey asked, struggling to make sense of what his friend had said. "How? When? Where were you?"

Chandler lifted his head to answer them. He looked awful. "Tonight. I was there. I was sleeping, but I woke up. She was on the balcony," he choked down a sob and forced his voice not to fail. "On the ledge. I went out there. I tried to stop her! I tried to talk her down, but, she wouldn't climb down. I tried to move to grab her, but she told me to stop. I was afraid she would jump!"

Phoebe dropped to her knees, bringing Chandler's head to her shoulder, leaving Rachel to cling to Ross.

"What did she say?" Rachel asked, crying.

"She said she felt like she was drowning." He was careful in what he told them. "She said she wasn't even sure if she wanted to be saved."

"What did she say right before she jumped?" Ross asked, his tears falling fast; he needed to keep his mind moving if he was going to stop himself from breaking down like Chandler was.

"She said she loved me too."

"Too?" Joey questioned.

"I told her I loved her! And I do! I do love her! God! And she may die!" He started sobbing again, harder than before.

"What did you do when she jumped?" Ross asked, frustrated. "Did you try and stop her? Did you try and grab her?"

"Of course!" Chandler shot back. "I managed to get a brief grip on my shirt, but it slipped out of my hand!"

"**Your shirt?" Joey asked. "You mean ****her shirt."**

Chandler looked dazed for a moment. "Yeah. Sorry. **Her** shirt."

"Have the Drs told you anything yet?" Phoebe asked.

"They just said it looks bad," Chandler choked out, his breathing coming in pained gasps.

"Well," Ross snipped, "Vague answers like **that** aren't **good** enough!" He marched over to the nurse's window and began to demand answers while the others stayed with Chandler, who was still crumpled up on the floor.

Phoebe leaned in, rubbing Chandler's back in support. "Chandler?" she whispered, "Why was Monica wearing your shirt?"

"What?" he asked, looking up at her, his eyes more red than their natural blue.

"You slipped and said 'my shirt', and that could've just been a mistake, but, you're not wearing a shirt beneath your sweats jacket." She pointed at his zip-up sweats, the zipper down enough to show that he was indeed not wearing a shirt underneath.

He zipped the jacket up as far as it would go, and avoided her question.

"Chandler? What happened?" Rachel asked.

He sighed heavily, it coming out in shaky quivers. "She begged me to. I told her no, that she needed a friend and not another complication, but she was persuasive. God, I should have said no! She would be ok if I had just-"

"Chandler, you need to stop blaming yourself, ok?" Phoebe told him firmly, interrupting him. "This is not your fault! You were just being a good friend. Just trying to be there for her in the way she wanted you to be."

"I knew better! But, I thought that if I made love to her," he whispered the words 'made love', glancing over at where Ross stood, still demanding answers. "That it might somehow help. I killed Monica!" he wailed, grabbing the attention of everyone around them.

"Dude! You didn't kill Monica!" Joey insisted. "She's gonna be fine! You'll see!"

"The Dr is going to come out as soon as he is able," Ross told the others, then knelt next to Chandler. "You need to stop beating yourself up like this, Chandler, ok? You thought you were doing the right thing. She can be very stubborn when it comes to getting help for herself."

--The Dr's words were serious, but not without hope. She had broken both legs and her left arm in the fall, but those wounds would heal fairly quickly. The Dr's biggest concern was her spinal cord. There was no way of knowing the full scope of the damage until the swelling around her spinal column went down. They also needed her to be awake, to judge her reactions to stimuli on her lower body. Their concern: paralysis. 

"Her pupils are reactive, which is a good sign, and we'll run an EEG to be sure that she hasn't suffered any significant brain damage…"

The Dr went on to explain all the good and bad, the bottom line being, no one would know anything for certain for a while. 

Chandler just listened, numb to everything being said, his guilt eating away at him.

"Can I see her?" Chandler asked as soon as the Dr stopped talking.

"Yes, of course."

***

--She almost looked like she was sleeping, Chandler thought as he sat on the edge of her bed, and except for all the tubes and casts that stabilized her broken limbs, he might've believed just that. Tears fell like rain as he made no attempt to wipe them anymore, the point in doing so moot.

"Mon," he whispered as he brushed her bangs away from her face, "Why? Why did you do this? Why couldn't I have been enough reason not to?" He sighed, watching her face for any sign of understanding, but her expression remained blank. 

"I meant what I said, Monica. I love you. Not only because you are my best friend, but because I have always felt like there was more between us, just waiting for the right time to, I don't know, turn into something?"

"You can't die, Monica, you just can't," he pleaded, his heart aching. "You have to fight, do you hear me? You can't leave me alone!" The tears came faster as he began to sob once again. "You can't leave your friends. Your brother…" He trailed off, resting his face in his hands.

The hand on his shoulder startled him, and he spun around to see Ross standing beside him.

"She's a fighter," Ross stated quietly, his eyes red from crying, "She'll pull through this."

"She said she didn't want to be saved," Chandler reminded, "When she was on the ledge."

"That was the heat of the moment," he surmised. "She's in there right now fighting. She'll come through this, Chandler."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I have to believe that," Ross replied solemnly. "It's all I have that's keeping me going."

"Yeah," Chandler agreed. There was a long moment of silence as the two men just watched Monica lie there before Chandler spoke up again. "I should have told you what was going on. I should've tried to get her to see a shrink."

"You didn't know she would do this."

"Still. I'm responsible for this, and if you hate me for the rest of our lives, I'll understand."

"I don't hate you, Chandler. I know how much my little sister means to you. You just- you made a mistake."

"A mistake that may cost her her life!" he spat, more angry with himself than with Ross' comment.

"You need to stop blaming yourself. You're going to drive yourself mad."

"Yeah, well," he muttered, "Too late."

"Did she confide in you at all over these past weeks?" Ross asked, desperate to understand what had led to this. "Do you know anything of what she was thinking?"

"She blamed herself for the break-up with Richard. And for the miscarriage, but she only told me that just tonight."

"What did she tell you before? Were there signs that this was coming?"

"No," he whispered. "She told me about the pregnancy, and I went with her to the hospital when she miscarried, but then she just, shut me out. I figured she needed time to grieve. I didn't realize how bad it was, till today." He looked at his watch; it was three in the morning. "Well, I guess yesterday, now," he mumbled, scratching at his ear nervously.

"What happened today?" Ross asked, turning Chandler to face him and away from Monica's unconscious form.

Guilt was weighing heavy, and he knew he had to tell him, he deserved to know the whole truth, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"She let me in," Chandler said quietly. "To her apartment, I mean. She looked so thin. She tried to run away, but I asked her to stay and talk to me." He sighed, glancing back at Monica before continuing. "She told me she had been terrified of being a single mom, but then when she lost the baby, she felt like she was responsible for killing him. Or her. She thought your mom would freak. She was avoiding everyone because she didn't want to burden anyone, having us all fuss over her or whatever. She said she couldn't laugh or smile, and to force it was physically exhausting."

"So," Ross asked, "You stayed up all night talking?"

Chandler shrugged. "Pretty much."

"How did she get to the balcony without you seeing her? Were you in the bathroom or something? Did she say anything right before?" The desperate quality to his tone was eerie and upsetting.

"We both dozed off," Chandler told the half-truth, wanting badly to avoid further questions, knowing that would be near-impossible, since he was the last person to see her before she jumped from her balcony ledge.

"When you woke up, she was already out there?"

Chandler nodded, turning back to Monica. "She begged me to help her earlier in the night, but on the ledge, she wouldn't let me-"

Ross put his hand on his friend's shoulder, offering comfort in the midst of his own anguish. "Let's go get some coffee, ok?"

Chandler allowed Ross to physically direct him away from the room and toward the cafeteria, where the others sat awaiting any word from anyone who knew anything.

***

--The coffee was horrible, but he drank it anyway, quickly gulping it down, needing the caffeine in his system. Without it, he was prone to dozing off, and every time he did, his brief nightmares would be of Monica, visions of her jumping terrifying him awake in a split second. 

He couldn't live the rest of his life with that vision in his head. He just couldn't.

"Did you tell Ross yet?" Phoebe asked discreetly, both her and Chandler glancing over at the man in question as he suffered with his coffee.

He shook his head. "I had the perfect opportunity, but I just couldn't do it."

"Are you going to?" she asked, placing her hand on his knee in support.

"I have to. I have to tell him."

"No, you don't," she said with confidence. "Telling him will only make **you** feel better, and it won't change anything that's going on."

"How will it make **me** feel better?" he asked, unable to see her point.

"You are feeling incredibly guilty," she explained. "And **you** think if you tell Ross, and he kills you, it will be just punishment."

Hanging his head, his eyes focused on his shoelaces, he avoided responding to her theory, or even acknowledging it.

"It's not your fault, Chandler," she insisted, giving his knee a squeeze to gain his attention. "You have to stop blaming yourself. It won't bring her back."

Tears fell down his cheeks as he looked up at her. "My heart aches, Pheebs, **so** bad. If I lose her, I don't think I'll be able to live."

"Don't talk like that," she ordered him. "The possibility of losing one friend is devastating! The thought of losing two is incomprehensible!"

"What are we going to do if she… if she dies?" he asked hesitantly. "How do we survive it?"

She shrugged. "I've lost a lot of loved ones," she told him, "And I have always managed to carry on."

"But this is Monica," he reminded, leaning against Phoebe's shoulder as he cried. "She can't die," he whispered. "She just can't."

***

--It was good news that the Dr came to share the hour before, but Monica still wasn't out of the woods, and she still wasn't awake. The sunrise was less than spectacular as it shown through the cracked blinds of the waiting room, everyone sleeping fitfully in uncomfortable chairs. Everyone except for Chandler.

Ross mumbled in his sleep, the only discernable words being something about dinosaurs. Joey was snoring, his mouth guard at home, since he wasn't expecting to be sleeping at the hospital.

Rachel was whimpering at one point, and he was sure the nightmare of reality was invading her dreams as they did his own. Phoebe scowled, seemingly angry about something or someone as she fidgeted in her chair.

Judy and Jack Geller, who had arrived a little more than an hour ago, leaned against one another as they dozed lightly, occasionally opening their eyes when they would hear a noise or sense movement.

"Y- ca- ppuu- tha- bone- innn- the- disspllayyy-," Ross babbled softly, frowning as he wriggled uncomfortably.

He couldn't take it anymore. He didn't care if visiting hours were over with, or yet to begin, he had to see her.

Chandler tiptoed out of the room, careful not to wake anyone, then quietly stepped down the hall to her room.

Peeking in, he made sure that no nurses or Drs were in there first before walking in. She looked the same as before, her eyes closed, tubes everywhere, her face expressionless. Making as little noise as possible, he pulled a chair up alongside her, up against her bed, and he sighed as he sat heavily in it.

"Should I have told them?" he asked her in a whisper. "Should I have warned them back when you first shut me out, that I was no longer in control of the situation? Was I ever in control of the situation?"

"You trusted me," he lamented. "You trusted me, and I failed you. You begged me to help, and I- I failed you. And I'm so **so** sorry. What should I have done differently? What would it have taken to reach you?"

"I would give everything I own," he pleaded to a God he barely acknowledged, "If she could just wake up right now."

He touched her hand, careful not to disrupt the IV needle in her, tracing invisible lines across her bruised skin.

"Visiting hours aren't for another few hours," a voice behind him stated softly, sympathetically.

"I know," he whispered back, not even turning to face the person. "Could you please just let it slide this one time?" he asked, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his hand.

"We have counselors," she said, answering the question indirectly. "I could send one in," she offered.

Reluctantly, he nodded. "Thanks."

She left without saying another word, and he sighed as he rested his head on her bed.

"I'm exhausted," he whispered, "But I can't sleep. When I do," he confided, "I see you jumping. And I try to grab you, but I fail." 

"I failed," he added, his voice catching. "My eyes feel like sandpaper, I've cried so much." Lifting his head slowly, he looked up into her face, "Can you hear me, Monica? Are you trying to get back to us?"

"Everyone is here, waiting for you to wake up. Even your parents are here."

There was no reaction at all from Monica, and he closed his eyes as new tears stung him.

"I thought I'd find you here."

It was Ross' voice, and Chandler sat up straighter as he watched him enter the room out of his peripheral vision.

"No change?" he asked him, to which Chandler sadly shook his head. "The Drs said the EEG showed no brain damage," Ross reminded him. "That's good news."

"I know," Chandler muttered, "But until she wakes up, good news means little."

"None of us saw this coming, Chandler," Ross consoled him. "Why do you insist on blaming yourself?"

"You saw it a little," Chandler reminded. "You suggested she needed to go to a shrink."

"But, I didn't force the issue, did I? I didn't break down her door and force her to go. And believe me, if I knew this was coming, I would have."

"I should have seen it though. I was with her more than you guys were, and **you** saw a glimmer of it."

"But, you yourself said that she had shut you out there, for a while, at the end. You're not Superman, Chandler. Or a Dr. You're being too hard on yourself."

"You don't understand," he sighed, his gaze dropping to the sheet that covered Monica.

"Then," Ross asked, "Explain it to me."

It took all of Chandler's strength and courage to say out loud to him what he had wanted to confess all night long.

"I slept with her, Ross." He cringed when he heard Ross gasp. "I made love to her, hours before she jumped."

"What?" he asked loudly, much more so than he should have. "You **what**?!"

"She begged me to," he explained, unable to face him. Unable to look him in the eye. "I told her it was a bad idea, but she begged me. And she threw herself at me. I wasn't thinking!" he exclaimed. "I was weak and stupid and…!" He trailed off, struggling against the tears that burned his cheeks and took his voice away.

"She said it felt right, and she started undressing me. She said she needed me, and I thought I could help her. That making love to her would help her," he added.

"How would having sex with her **help** her?" Ross demanded to know.

"I don't know!" Chandler shot back, weakly defending himself. He felt deserving of Ross' admonishment and more. "She seemed so frail, I didn't think she could take the rejection. But, then all my feelings came into play, and I found myself wanting her as much as she claimed to want me."

"I'm the worst human being in the world," Chandler yelled, not caring about the disruption it would cause. "You have every right to hate me! I deserve to die! Kill me!" he ordered his friend, sobbing. "Kill me for doing this to her!"

Ross stood in stunned silence, watching as his friend completely lost it. The noise brought in a Dr, two nurses, and Joey, Rachel, Phoebe, Judy, and Jack.

Chandler dropped to the floor, in the fetal position, rocking as he wailed, and the nurses worked to remove everyone from the room as the Dr called for a psych evaluation on the room phone.

…**TO BE CONTINUED**…


	2. 2

The One Where Mercury Continues

Original story by: Ezika

Continued with permission. Thanks, Ezika!

Continuation by: Jana~

Chapter Two

*****

--They all remained in the hall just outside the door, trying to catch any bit of conversation that would filter out of the room as Chandler's wailing continued.

"What the hell happened?" Joey asked, and Judy 'tsk'ed at him for using foul language, which they all just ignored.

"Chandler told me about his last hours with Monica," Ross replied numbly. "Before she jumped, apparently, they had been… intimate, with one another."

Judy scoffed at the news. "Why would she go and do something like that?" she asked callously.

They all looked at her in amazement. Even Jack.

"Why would she try to kill herself?" Ross asked, irritated. "She was feeling lost! Chandler is one of her best friends! She thought it would make her feel better!"

Judy seemed upset by the tone he used with her, and she wrinkled up her face, showing her disappointment. "Well, it obviously didn't work, now did it?"

"Judy," Jack interrupted, his tone sadly calm, "You need to stop now, ok?"

"Stop what?" she asked, indignant. "Just what am I doing that is **so** wrong?"

"It's **this** attitude that makes Monica think you don't love her!" Ross snapped angrily. "She's in there, fighting for her life, and all you can do is criticize her for a decision **you** think was a bad one!"

"You think I don't know that my baby is in there, fighting for her life?!" Judy shouted back, tears streaming down her face. "I wasn't criticizing the decision! I was asking because I didn't know if they were an item, as you kids say. She just broke up with Richard not that long ago! I thought it odd that she was serious about someone else so quickly! Is all!"

"Guys," Phoebe interjected, physically standing between mother and son. "This isn't doing any of us any good, ok? Let's just take a breath and calm down."

Angry expressions melted away as a Dr flew by them and into the room.

"What's going on?" Rachel asked no one in specific, saying aloud what the others had said silently in their heads.

"Maybe it's the psych Doc," Joey offered, inching closer to the door. "I'm gonna go ask."

Poking his head in the room, he saw Chandler still on his knees, on the floor, the quick moving Dr beside him, saying something about a tranquilizer.

"You're gonna have to wait outside," one of the nurses told Joey, pointing at him.

"We're worried," Joey said as he gestured back toward the hall where everyone was waiting for answers. "What's going on?"

"Your friend is having an anxiety attack," the Dr informed him. "We're giving him a sedative to help him relax. And Miss Geller is awake," he added, causing Joey to look for the first time since he had peeked in, at the bed Monica occupied.

Her eyes were open, and she looked scared as the other Dr and other nurse worked on her, quietly passing orders back and forth as they buzzed about her and fiddled with machines.

"Is she ok?" Joey asked, his tone and expression intense.

"We still have to run tests," the Dr explained, "But this is a very good step in her recovery."

Joey beamed, his heart racing as he smiled reassuringly at Monica. "You're gonna be ok," he told her, nodding to reaffirm his words. "And Chandler?" he asked the Dr. "Is he going to be ok?"

"We feel he will need grief counseling," the psych Dr answered, "But, yes. He should be fine."

"We'll be out to update you as soon as we can," one nurse said, then pointed at the door Joey was standing against. "You need to wait outside, please."

Joey nodded, smiling apologetically. "Sure, no problem." He gestured at the door before leaving through it.

"What's going on?" Phoebe asked, sensing it was good news by the look on Joey's face.

"Chandler's fine," he started. "Some kind of freaking out attack, but the Dr said he'll be fine, and that he needs counseling and stuff." His smile grew wider, and everyone literally held their breath as they watched the man that obviously held more news.

"And?" Ross asked, trying to get his sometimes-dense friend to hurry along.

"Monica's awake," Joey blurted out, holding his arms out when everyone gasped and made noises of relief and joy as they all joined in a group hug.

"Is she ok?" Jack asked, the first to break away from the six-person embrace.

"They said they needed to do more tests," Joey informed them, "But that this was a good thing."

"When can we see her?" Rachel asked, tears of joy replacing tears of utter despair.

"The Doc will be out soon to talk to us," Joey told her, and everyone, "So we can ask him then."

"What about Chandler?" Phoebe asked. "Are they admitting him?"

Joey scowled as he tried to determine what the question was, but it hit him a few seconds later. "I don't know," he answered. "The Doc didn't say. We'll ask about that too, I guess."

***

--The gurney that held Chandler whizzed by the group of friends, all of them torn between following it, and staying at Monica's door. Phoebe agreed to follow, promising to bring back news shortly, then jogged to catch up.

"How is he?" she asked the nurse that stepped quickly alongside him, both women struggling to keep up with the orderlies' brisk near-run.

"He was given a sedative," she told the blonde she recognized as the patient's friend. "He will be pretty sleepy for a while," she added.

"Is he being admitted? Why are we running with him? Where are we going?"

"The Dr wants to keep him overnight," the nurse explained. "To be sure he doesn't have a negative reaction to the tranquilizer, and to have a talk with him tomorrow."

"He's not crazy," Phoebe told her, following them into the room they were admitting him to.

"We know that," she replied. "Extreme grief can bring on nervous breakdowns."

"Is that what he had?" Phoebe asked. "A nervous breakdown?"

"The Dr can explain everything to you." She dodged the question, helping to shift Chandler into the hospital bed and off the gurney. "You can visit with him, but he won't be very lucid."

"Thank you," Phoebe said, waiting for the orderlies and nurse to leave before approaching the bed.

"Chandler? Can you hear me?" she asked, running her fingers through his hair.

"Pheebs?" He sounded drugged.

"Yeah," she acknowledged with a smile.

"Monica?" he asked, straining to keep his eyes open.

"She's awake," Phoebe answered. "You just rest, ok? You'll see her tomorrow."

"Tell her," he whispered, mumbling, "Tell her… I love her."

She nodded, raking her fingers through his hair again. "I will. Sleep now," she ordered as she brushed her palm gently over his eyes, encouraging his heavy lids to close.

After kissing his forehead, she made a mental note of the room number, then headed back for Monica's room.

***

--Too much excitement was bad for the patient, the Dr had said, so only two people at a time could go in to see Monica, and it was asked of them that they not bring up the attempted suicide.

That left little to talk about, and a lot of awkward silence as they struggled to find something to say to a woman they could always chat easily with.

Phoebe walked in, not having heard the 'two people at a time' rule, and Ross and Rachel turned around as she whispered 'hello'.

"She's still kinda shaken up," Ross said quietly, as if Monica couldn't hear him if he lowered his voice. "The Dr said only two people can be here at a time."

"It's ok," Rachel said tearfully, seeing her friend in such shape taking its toll on her. "I can go, so Phoebe can visit." She turned back to Monica. "I'll come back and see you later, ok?"

Monica didn't even acknowledge her, she just continued staring out the window, and Ross and Rachel shared looks as she left the room.

"She's been unresponsive so far," Ross informed Phoebe, whispering.

"She's also not deaf," Monica added, her voice sounding weak and strained.

Phoebe looked past Ross to his sister, approaching the bed. "Why did you do this, Monica?"

Ross stepped quickly to her side, touching her elbow to get her attention. "We're not supposed to talk about that."

She scoffed. "What? Why not? What else are we gonna talk about?"

He shrugged, glancing at Monica before looking back to Phoebe. "Dr's orders."

Phoebe dismissed his words with a wave of her hand. "Monica, do **you** want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. "Not really."

"Ok, what **do** you want to talk about?"

Monica looked up at her friend, her eyes vacant, with a sadness Phoebe had never seen in her before.

"Where's Chandler?" she asked hesitantly, begging to not be ignored.

"We're not supposed to talk about that, either," Ross whispered, knowing she wouldn't care, but feeling a duty to advise her anyway.

"He's in room 238," Phoebe told her, "Sleeping off a sedative they gave him."

Monica nodded. "He was crying…" She left the sentence there, waiting for Phoebe to pick it up and continue with it.

"He lost it, Mon. I've never seen him, or anyone, so upset."

Ross threw his hands up in the air and walked to the corner of the room, as if space between them would make him immune to criticism that he witnessed the rules being broken.

"I heard him crying," Monica whispered, tears trickling down her face. "I heard what he said before the Drs came in."

"You heard that?" Ross asked, involving himself in the conversation. She nodded. "What did you hear, exactly?"

"I heard him say that-" She stopped abruptly, deciding against telling her brother all she heard. "I heard him say that he was a horrible person. And that he deserved to die for what he did to me." The tears came faster, sliding unchecked down her face to drop on the hospital gown she was wearing. "He didn't **do** anything to me. This wasn't his fault," she choked out. "It was mine. **I** did this to me."

"Why?" Phoebe asked carefully.

"Cause, I didn't think I could cope with the sadness, and the hole in my heart! Cause I wished my unborn baby away!" Her voice rose in volume as she spilled her feelings. "Cause I was too scared to be a single mom! Cause I was too chicken to tell Richard I was carrying his child! It all just built on itself, one mess after another, till I didn't know which end was up anymore! I felt like I was drowning."

Ross physically winced. That was the very sentence Chandler had recited a few times as something she had said.

"Why didn't you let us help you?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell us what was going on? We would have saved you from drowning," he added softly.

"I don't know," she said with a sigh. "I didn't want to burden you. You and Rachel were moving in together," she said as she pointed at her brother. "And I saw how sad Chandler was, being around me. I figured, with time, I could get over it by myself. I've always been strong," she added, shaking her head.

"You **are** strong," Phoebe told her, "You just got lost for a little bit. In all the hormones and stuff."

Monica's expression showed confusion as she looked back up at her friend, silently asking for an explanation to what she meant.

"When you get pregnant," Phoebe explained, "You get whacked out hormones. When you… lose a baby," she continued cautiously, "More whacked out hormones."

"So," Monica asked, "I'm not crazy?"

She shook her head. "No, you're not. You're just sad and hormonal."

"I don't think we should be diagnosing her, Phoebe," Ross warned, glancing around them like a nervous lookout at a bank robbery.

"I'm not diagnosing her," Phoebe replied with a roll of her eyes. "I'm just telling her how I see things."

"Well, stop it," he ordered her, receiving another eye roll in response.

"What, do you think the Dr is gonna come in here and slap cuffs on you for practicing medicine without a license?" she asked with a laugh.

"Exactly!" Ross snipped back at her.

"Please," she scoffed, "They **so** wouldn't do that! Besides," she added, "I happen to have certification in holistic medicine!"

"They won't care about **that**," he argued. "They only care if you have a **real** doctorate!"

"Oh, well," she challenged him, "I better not do **this** then, huh?" She started waving her hands above Monica, whisking them sharply to the side every few seconds.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a sharp whisper.

"I'm cleansing her aura," she answered, her eyes closed, blissfully continuing her task.

"I'm not going to be a party to this," he snapped, then softened his tone for his sister's sake. "I'll be back later, k, Mon?"

"Sssshhh," Phoebe shushed him. "She needs to concentrate."

In a huff, he stormed out of the room, leaving Phoebe and Monica alone.

"That was fun," she said with a smile, then sat on the edge of Monica's bed. "Chandler gave me a message to give to you," she told her.

With a nod, Monica took in a shaky breath, wanting to, but also nervous to hear what he had to say.

"He told me to tell you that he will see you as soon as he can, probably tomorrow. And that he loves you."

When Monica started to cry, Phoebe wiped her tears with a tissue she had grabbed from off the small table next to them. "You love him, too, don't you?" she asked, sensing the answer.

Monica nodded. "But I'm so messed up," she whispered. "How can I-"

"Don't worry about that now," Phoebe instructed. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but after time, all of this will be a distant memory."

"But still a memory," Monica muttered. "A **bad** memory, that no one will be able to forget."

"Maybe not forget," Phoebe agreed, "But we **will** heal and move on. All of us. Including you."

"Could you do me a favor, Pheebs?" Monica asked, to which Phoebe nodded. "Could you maybe, cleanse my aura for real? I feel like I could use all the help I can get," she added.

Phoebe smiled, then reached into her purse for something, digging past an insane amount of crap before finding what she was looking for. She held it up, showing it to Monica.

"A chevron amethyst," she told her, identifying it. "It helps with cleansing the aura and repelling negativity."

"Ok." She watched as her friend closed her eyes, concentrating as she murmured softly to herself. Phoebe had some odd rituals and beliefs, but Monica found them strangely comforting in that moment. Everything she thought she knew was broken and in pieces, and maybe because of that, she felt open to alternative ways of thinking. Maybe getting her aura cleansed wouldn't fix her, or change anything, but it sure couldn't hurt, either.

"Thank you," Monica whispered, hesitant about disrupting Phoebe's trance.

Phoebe squinted open just one eye. "Thank **you**," she whispered back, "For letting me help you."

*****~*****

--Monica scowled as Ross fluffed up the pillows behind her, babbling as if there was not a care in the world. It was a coping mechanism he often used when he found it difficult to deal, chirping on about inane things, avoiding the real situation, as if **not** talking about it would make it go away.

"Mom and dad will be by later," he went on, moving from pillow fluffing to organizing everything on her bedside tray. "They went home to take a shower and a nap. Phoebe and Rachel are off getting snack foods at the vending machines, cause that cafeteria food is just awful. Even their coffee is horrible! I mean, how hard is it to make coffee, right? Oh, and Joey is asleep in one of the waiting room chairs." He chuckled, "I swear, that man could sleep anywhere! I remember one time-"

"Ross," she interrupted him, "Just stop it, ok?"

"I'm just straightening your table," he muttered.

"Not **that**," she told him, "I mean the incessant babbling. You're making me wanna jump up and leave. And as you can see," she added, gesturing to her condition, "I **can't**."

"Sor-ry," he mumbled back, a hurt look in his eyes as he continued adjusting the contents on her table.

Sighing, she apologized. "I'm sorry, I know you're just trying to be a good big brother, but, I can't stand all the tip-toeing everyone is doing around me."

"What would you rather us do?" he asked.

What she wanted, was to **not** be treated with kid gloves. She wanted them to yell at her. Tell her what she did was wrong. Express all the things she **knew** they were feeling, but refused to discuss. If the tables had been reversed, and it was any one of them who had done what she had done, she would've been giving them the tongue-lashing of a lifetime.

She wanted them **not** to pity her.

Avoiding all serious conversation, they instead talked about the weather, or dinosaur bones, or cabbies named Sonar who think they can track alien spacecraft by wearing a tinfoil hat. They changed the subject when she brought up her suicide attempt, or Chandler. Even Phoebe, who had been willing to speak more honestly with her before, now only babbled mindlessly, or she avoided saying anything. Monica figured they all got together and convinced Phoebe to follow along with them, in an effort not to upset her.

She asked the nurse about Chandler, but she just rattled off about how he wasn't her patient, and therefore knew nothing about his condition. Remembering that Phoebe had said he was in room 238, she tried to call his room on her bedside phone, but it was blocked from making outgoing calls. And the incoming calls were being closely monitored.

"I don't know, Ross," she muttered softly, turning her face away from him. "Can I just have some time alone, please?"

Looking down at his shoes, he nodded sadly. "Sure."

After hearing the door click closed, she sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "Dying woulda been better than **this**."

"Please don't say that."

She startled at the sound of the familiar voice, tears welling in her eyes as she found herself staring back at the owner.

**TO BE CONTINUED**…

Please leave a review!


	3. 3

The One Where Mercury Continues

Original story by: Ezika

Continued with permission. Thanks, Ezika!

Continuation by: Jana~

Chapter Three

*****

--"What are you doing here?" Monica asked the visitor to her room, her voice showing the strain on her emotions.

"Your parents called me."

She sighed, "I really wish they hadn't done that."

"What happened, Monica?"

A slight shake of her head was all she was capable of responding with in that moment.

"Why did you do this?"

Taking in a shaky breath, she willed herself to speak. "I don't think this is a good idea, Richard."

"What's not a good idea?" he asked.

"Talking with you right now. I can't deal with talking to you right now."

Not wanting to leave, unsure if he should press for answers, Richard just remained cemented in place. The only sound in the room was the beeping of the machine that monitored her heart rate.

"I'm sorry that our breakup hurt you this badly," he whispered.

"It wasn't just about the breakup," she told him, "It was a lot of things."

"Like what?"

"Please," she pleaded, "I can't do this right now."

"But, I can't help but feel respon-"

"Richard," she interrupted him, "You have nothing to feel guilty about, alright? If you came here to ease your conscience, then you didn't need to come down at all."

"But-"

"If you need answers," she interrupted him again, "Ask Ross. He knows most of the story." With a heavy sigh, she turned away from him. "Please, just go."

A silent nod was returned as he slowly walked to her bedside. Leaning to her, he kissed her hair before whispering 'ok', then turned on his heal and headed for the door. "You have my number," he reminded her, pausing before leaving. "If you need anything…"

Shoes reverberated on the floor as he left the room, the door making a whooshing sound before clicking shut. That's when she lost it. She allowed the tears to fall freely, emotions overwhelming her.

"I don't even know **what** I **need**," she choked out, almost inaudibly. "I wish I **did**."

***

--The hospital cafeteria was abuzz with lunch traffic. Everyone from friends and relatives of patients to Drs, nurses, and other hospital employees, all chattering over plates of spaghetti, meatloaf, or stale disgusting sandwiches; all except for the five people in the far back, occupying the table for four in cramped style.

Ross explained all he knew, all except for the part about Chandler and Monica sleeping together. He figured that would just be hurtful to Richard, so he omitted it.

Richard felt numb as he listened to the recount of all that happened, agreeing with Phoebe that the situation was probably, in part, due to the hormonal imbalance Monica was experiencing because of the pregnancy and miscarriage.

"I don't understand why she didn't tell me about the baby," he muttered, glancing at all of them in a request for answers.

"You said you didn't want kids," Phoebe offered. "She probably thought you would be unhappy about the pregnancy."

"Maybe she thought it would look to **you** like she was trying to trap you," Joey suggested as a possibility.

"I wouldn't have thought that," Richard defended.

"She didn't know that. She wasn't thinking right, remember?" Phoebe reminded. "Whacked out hormones?"

"Where is Chandler now?" he asked. "Maybe she said something to him."

They all shared looks before Rachel decided on answering. "He lost it, when she was brought in. He witnessed her… jumping."

"It messed him up **bad**," Phoebe added. "He had a nervous breakdown. They admitted him to the hospital for observation."

"Of course he did," Richard sighed, shaking his head, and they all questioned him with various comments. "He's in love with her," Richard reported. "Has been for what?" he directed the question at Joey, "Since 1989?"

Joey's eyes grew wide and Ross, Phoebe, and Rachel all became intensely interested in knowing more about the secret the two men obviously shared.

"Joey?" Phoebe asked for an explanation by just the use of his name.

When Joey hesitated to respond, Richard began telling the story. "When Monica and I were dating, I hung out with Joey and Chandler for a while, remember?" Everyone nodded. "Well, one night we went to this bar, and we got a bit tipsy. Well," he corrected, "Joey and **I** got tipsy, Chandler got wasted. Alcohol has a tendency to loosen one's tongue. He confessed to me that he's been in love with her for years. Ever since some Thanksgiving dinner, where she apparently, accidentally cut off his pinky toe."

"I asked Richard not to say anything," Joey continued. "I knew Chandler would be mortified to know that he had spilled his guts like that. Especially to her current boyfriend."

"If he was so in love with her," Ross asked, "Then why didn't he just **tell** her?"

"Like you told Rachel?" Phoebe asked, reminding him that he **too** waited for forever to tell the woman he loved how he felt about her.

Ross looked away, muttering, "Point taken."

"If **you** knew all this time," Phoebe directed the question at Joey, "Then why didn't you **tell** us?"

"I was sworn to secrecy!" he announced. "You wouldn't want me blabbing **your** secrets, now would you?"

They all conceded.

***

--Drumming his fingers impatiently, Chandler only half-listened as the Dr continued his psycho-babble, carrying on like they were best friends, trying to get him to 'open up and share his feelings'. All Chandler wanted to do was get to Monica's room, to see her.

He had tried to call her room when the sedative started wearing off, but her calls were being screened, and the one doing the screening didn't think she could handle a call from him.

"Have you ever had to deal with loss in your life, Chandler?" the Dr asked.

"I lose at foosball all the time," he joked. "Does that count?"

The Dr smiled and jotted something down on the pad of paper he held.

"What was going through your mind when you thought Monica was going to die?"

He sighed, slightly annoyed. "I was upset, ok? And I know I went a little off the deep-end, but I hadn't slept in a million hours! And I'd had, like, a zillion cups of bad coffee! I overreacted, is all…"

"Do you blame yourself for what Monica did to herself?"

Chandler shook his head, in a way that clearly stated he thought the line of questioning was ridiculous.

"Chandler," the Dr stated calmly, "The sooner you talk to me, the sooner we can determine the best course for helping you, and the sooner you will be released."

Chandler knew what the Dr wanted to hear. He knew what needed to be said to get them to release him. All those times he rehearsed lines with Joey was going to pay off. He would have to be believable, though.

He shrugged, putting on his best sincere face. "Maybe. But, I was more just thinking that- that maybe I could have done more, ya'know? If I had just moved a little faster, I might've been able to grab her. I've gone over the moment a thousand times since it happened, and I just don't think I could've moved any faster than I did."

The Dr looked at him incredulously. "If I'm going to help you, I need you to be honest with me, Chandler."

He sighed. He thought he sounded pretty convincing, but obviously not convincing enough. "What is it you want from me?"

"This isn't torture, Chandler," the Dr told him. "I'm just trying to help you. I just want you to talk to me, honestly. Can you do that, Chandler?"

He hated the way the Dr kept saying his name. They both knew his name, there was no one else in the room the Dr could be talking to… 'Stop saying my stupid name,' he said silently in his head.

"I can do that," Chandler relented. He just wanted it to be over with so he could go see Monica.

"In what ways do you blame yourself for what happened to Monica?"

There was no getting around it. "I knew she was depressed," he finally confided in the Dr. "I had the chance to get her help, but she said she was fine, so I didn't push the matter. If I had moved faster," he choked out, tears beginning to fall, "I could have grabbed her. If I hadn't slept with her," he whispered, "She wouldn't have wanted to…" He trailed off, attempting to get a handle on his emotions.

"Do you think she jumped because you two shared an intimate moment, prior?"

Wiping at his eyes and nose, he sniffled as he muttered, "I don't know."

"If Monica **had** died, do you think you would have spent the rest of your life, thinking you were the reason for her death?"

"Maybe," he answered with a shrug.

"If she tells you that you are not to blame, will you believe her?"

He took a moment to think about that question before responding. "I think so."

"You said you were intimate with her before the incident. Can you tell me what happened to lead to that?"

With a sigh, he stared down at the dorky hospital gown they made him put on. "**She** came on to **me**," he explained, almost as if defending his actions. "I told her no, that it was a bad idea, but she wouldn't relent. She said it felt right, and she started undressing me. A man only has so much willpower. I wanted her," he cried softly, "And I let it cloud my better judgment."

"How long have you wanted her in that way?"

"Forever," he whispered.

"Have you ever told her how you feel?" Chandler shook his head. "Why not?" Chandler shook his head again, an indication that he didn't want to answer the question. "Chandler, why didn't you tell Monica that you are in love with her?"

"I was afraid," he blurted out. "I was afraid of rejection."

The Dr nodded. "What will you tell her, when you see her?"

Chandler looked up at the Dr, with a sincerity he knew to be genuine. "I'm going to tell her how I feel. All of it."

"And what if she tells you that she doesn't feel the same way about you?"

"Then, we'll be friends again. Still. Like we've always been."

"And that will be enough for you?"

He nodded. "I just want her in my life. I'll take whatever she's willing to give me. And willing to take **from** me."

The Dr smiled as he jotted more notes down on his pad, then closed the file. "I will start the paperwork for your release," he informed. "I would like to see you as an outpatient for a few weeks, at least, to help you with some issues, but I think you'll be fine to leave. And visit Monica," he added.

Chandler nodded, smiling slightly. "Thank you, Dr."

The Dr extended his hand. "You're welcome, Chandler."

***

--Monica closed her eyes tight as her mom continued on, cheerfully criticizing her like she had always done, since the beginning of time. Why she thought it would be any different now was beyond her. It didn't diffuse her mother's criticism, the idea that she had tried to kill herself, it just gave the woman ammunition.

"And then, your brother tells us that you **slept** with that **Chandler**! Well, honestly, Monica, I just don't know what goes through your head sometimes!"

'Moving to another country and getting away from **you**, Mom!' she screamed inside her head. 'That's what's going through my head **right now**!'

"If you're so in love with someone else that you want to end your life cause you can't be with him, then what good does it do to sleep with someone else? I mean, **really**!" Judy scoffed. "And I don't know what you expected, anyway. I mean, Richard is ages older than you! Did you honestly think it was going to last? Of course, your taste in men has always been **iffy** at best."

Monica suddenly began to laugh. Everyone was **so** busy walking on eggshells around her, afraid of upsetting her by talking about the simplest things, and here her mother was, bashing her as if nothing had changed. She found herself almost appreciative of the trait that made her mom like that. The woman could berate a drowning man as he struggled for breath, calling him an idiot for not having taken swim lessons as a child, all while sounding sympathetic and caring.

"What's so funny?" Judy asked.

"You, Mom," Monica laughed. "You are what is so funny."

Judy scoffed. "I don't see what's so funny about what I said."

"It's not **what** you said, it's when and how you said it."

She scowled at her daughter. "I'm not following you."

Monica shook her head, her smile slowly fading away as her laughter quieted. "Why are you here?"

"What do you mean? I'm here to see you!"

"Why?"

"Because…" She hesitated. "Because," she repeated, "You've been through a horrible ordeal, and I wanted to be here for you."

"Be here for me, **why**?" Monica asked, irritating her mother further.

"What is the matter with you?" Judy asked. "I'm here because you are my daughter and I love you!"

"Ah, I see," Monica said, nodding along. "And tell me, Mom, which part was **more** loving? The part where you berate me for sleeping with Chandler, or the part where you tell me I have bad taste in men? Or that I was stupid for thinking it would last with Richard?"

Judy turned to say something to her husband, Jack, but found he wasn't in the room any longer.

"Where did your father go?"

"He left," Monica answered. "Some time ago. Why don't you go see if you can find him?"

"Are you asking me to leave?" Judy snipped.

"Yes, I am," Monica snipped back. "But don't worry, I'm sure you can think of at least a **few** criticisms to mutter under your breath as you go." She rolled her head away from where her mother was standing, confirming with body language that she wanted her gone.

Judy made a huffing sound, clearly irritated, and stormed out of Monica's room, mumbling as she went. She was so predictable.

At least her mom didn't act any different around her, but she just simply wasn't in the mood for her at that moment. She could handle her mom better when she felt at least a little in control of her life. Right then, she felt the complete opposite.

She heard the door whoosh open, and two hesitant footsteps entering; she didn't even bother to look up.

"I need some time alone, please," she said to whoever was standing there.

"Ok, when can I come back?"

Monica gasped as she turned to see him. To be sure her ears weren't playing tricks on her. They weren't. He was really there. She shook her head, her voice caught on the lump in her throat.

"Or did you never want to see me again?" he asked.

She just stared back, her expression almost pained.

"Ok," he sighed, then turned to leave.

"Chandler, wait!" she called out, forcing the words from her mouth.

Turning around to face her, he avoided eye contact for a moment before meeting her stare.

"Please stay," she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes.

With just the slightest smile, he nodded, taking another step into the room, towards her.

"I don't know what to say to you," she choked out. "I don't even know how to be in the same room with you. But," she added, "I don't want you to leave."

"Then I won't," Chandler said softly. "I'll just sit here by your bedside," he told her, pulling up a chair, "And we don't have to say a word."

She nodded, showing her gratitude.

**TO BE CONTINUED**…

Please leave a review!


	4. 4

The One Where Mercury Continues

Original story by: Ezika

Continued with permission. Thanks, Ezika!

Continuation by: Jana~

Chapter Four

*****

--It was more than a little surprising to see room 238 empty. They expected to see Chandler lying in bed, but instead they found a bed stripped of all linens, and a 'candy striper' who could offer nothing in the way of answers. Deciding that the nurse at the desk probably had more information, they left the room in a convoy, heading straight for the nearest nurse's station, questions screaming to get out.

The nurse they spoke with was certainly nice enough, but was only slightly more helpful. She could tell them he had been released, but couldn't tell them when or where he'd gone to.

"He wouldn't have gone home," Joey theorized as they all hovered near the desk, trying to decide what to do. "Monica is still here."

"Well, then, he's probably with Monica," Ross added, then started for his sister's room without waiting for a response.

"Maybe we should give them some time alone," Phoebe suggested, following along, but reluctantly.

"We won't intrude," Ross told her, his stride constant. "We'll just check and see if he's there. If he is," he added, "We'll just leave them alone."

"What if he's not there?" Rachel asked, a troubled quality to her tone.

"Then we'll see if Monica knows where he is," Ross replied easily.

"What if she doesn't know?" she pressed further.

"Then we'll scour the place till we find him," Ross returned with an exasperated sigh; he just wanted to deal with one thing at a time.

"Maybe he's out looking for us," Joey interjected. "Or maybe he's at the cafeteria."

Further speculation proved unnecessary. Upon reaching Monica's room, Ross peeked in, finding Monica fast asleep, and Chandler in a chair by her bedside, his head resting on the bed, also sleeping.

He put his finger up to his lips, indicating they should be quiet, then gestured for them to look. When Ross stepped out of the way, Phoebe slowly pushed the door open to see, giving enough room for the others to as well.

"Should we wake them?" Joey whispered, and Phoebe promptly shook her head and moved to close the door.

"Let them rest," she advised. "They've both been through a lot."

They all agreed, glancing back at the door before walking a few steps away.

"I say we run home real quick and grab real food, real coffee, and a shower," Joey suggested, the sound of his rumbling stomach hard to ignore.

"Maybe we should tell them first?" Rachel asked, to which Phoebe immediately began shaking her head.

"We should let them sleep," Phoebe insisted.

"But if they wake up," Rachel countered, "They'll wonder where we went."

"Maybe we could leave them a note," Joey offered, trying to find a solution.

"We could just sneak in and put it on her table, or on the bed near Chandler's face," Ross added, he and the others looking to Phoebe to see if she was in agreement.

Phoebe nodded. "Ok, that'll work."

"It's settled then," Ross announced, gesturing for them to follow as he headed for the gift shop.

***

--"It just needs to be a simple note," Ross explained to Phoebe, she being voted as the person who should write it.

"I know," she returned with a roll of her eyes.

They all peered over her shoulder as she jotted, 'Chandler and Monica, went home to grab a shower and new clothes. We'll be back soon. Love, all of us.'

"Works for me," Ross muttered as he handed her an envelope to put the note in. "Make it out to both of them."

She glared at him briefly before scrawling, 'To Monica and Chandler', then she slipped the paper inside and licked it to seal it. "Who's going in?"

Glancing at one another, all eyes eventually landed on Rachel.

"Why me?" she asked.

"You have a quiet walk," Phoebe informed, and the guys nodded in agreement.

"But, I have pumps on!" Rachel exclaimed, pointing down at her feet.

"Rachel," Ross told her with a sigh, "You can remove your shoes you know."

Not wanting to appear stupid, she just rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I **know that. I just didn't know if- if ****you knew that."**

Phoebe and Joey shared discreet smirks as Rachel hung onto Ross for balance as she removed her shoes.

"Where should I put it?" she asked. "On the table, or on the bed?"

"Chandler might drool on it," Phoebe answered. "Just put it on the table."

Rachel nodded, handing her shoes over to Ross to hold. "Ok," she added with an intense seriousness, "I'm going in. Wish me luck."

"You're not Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible, Rachel," Ross quipped, receiving a glare in return.

Creeping in cautiously, Rachel tiptoed into the room, walking around Chandler to reach the bedside table. With a precision one might use when building a house out of a deck of cards, she carefully set the note up against the small plastic water pitcher, positioned so either could see it when they woke up, then turned and gave her friends a thumbs-up as they watched through the crack in the door.

Tiptoeing back, they all heard Chandler stir slightly, and Ross frantically waved for Rachel to hurry, causing her to rush out the door in very animated fashion.

"Mission accomplished," she whispered proudly, the door closing behind her as she retrieved her shoes from Ross.

"Ok, when should we meet back here?" Phoebe asked, checking her watch.

"Two hours?" Ross suggested. "That's enough time to eat and shower, right?"

"What about a nap?" Joey asked, his face scrunched up into a pained expression. "I'm **so tired!"**

Ross nodded and checked his watch again when the girls muttered in agreement with him. "Ok, how about we meet back here in three hours? One hour to eat, one to shower, one to nap. Sound good?" They all agreed with various comments. "Ok, let's synchronize our watches," Ross instructed, holding his watch out to adjust it.

Rachel scoffed, "Now who's playing Mission Impossible?"

Phoebe and Joey laughed as they said their goodbyes, Ross then moving quickly to catch up with Rachel as she walked away.

"I'm gonna come home with you," Phoebe told Joey. "I don't want to go home by myself. I'll just borrow something of Monica's, and crash on your couch, or in Chandler's room. Do you mind?"

"Of course I don't mind," he assured her. "But we might have to raid Monica's fridge," he added. "We don't have much in ours."

***

--The air seemed different in the hallway between apartments 19 and 20, and Phoebe could immediately sense the negative energy coming from Monica's place. Usually a cheerful vibe could be felt emanating from apartment 20; it certainly wasn't now, as Phoebe stood staring at the door.

"What's wrong?" Joey asked, startling her out of her near-trance.

Her eyes seemed glazed over as she looked over at him. "So much sadness," she whispered, then placed her hand on the door; she literally, physically winced. "You don't feel it?"

Humoring her, he placed his hand on the door, waited for a moment, then nodded.

"I have her key in here somewhere," she muttered, digging through her purse. When she found it, she keyed into the apartment without hesitation, gasping when the door swung open.

The usually-immaculate apartment was anything but, giving the two friends a glimpse into just how bad Monica had been before the attempted suicide.

Dishes lay in the sink unwashed, trash was piled up, spilling onto the floor. Tissues were scattered all about, crumpled from use, and the afghan and cushions on the couch were all uncharacteristically askew.

"I'm gonna need to burn some candles and incense," she announced softly, to herself as much as to Joey, "To get rid of all this negativity, before Monica comes home."

"What's that?" Joey asked, pointing to the small table that sat beside the couch. "It says 'to Chandler'." As Phoebe looked over, he suddenly gasped, wondering, "Do you think it's, like, a suicide note?"

They shared an intense moment before she moved to take it from the table.

"I don't think we should be reading that," Joey complained, watching as she flipped the envelope over.

"It's not sealed," she told him. "They'll never know we looked at it."

"That's not the point," he told her. "It's addressed to Chandler! We're not Chandler!"

"This could help us," she countered, attempting to convince him. "It's not invading their privacy, it's getting all the information so that we can help."

Reluctantly, Joey gestured for her to go ahead and open the letter, moving closer as she unfolded it. Peering over her shoulder, he silently followed along as Phoebe read it aloud, the final thoughts of a woman so swallowed up by depression, she would attempt to kill herself by leaping from her balcony.

As Phoebe finished, Joey handed the envelope it came in back to her, pointing at it anxiously once in her grasp.

"Put it back in," he told her, his voice giving away an emotion he fought hard to suppress. "We have to get back to the hospital!" Phoebe nodded in agreement, stuffing the paper back into its envelope. "Chandler **needs** to read this letter!"

***

--Too exhausted to string words together to make a sentence, Ross and Rachel barely said anything to one-another during the cab ride home. As if on autopilot, Ross hung an immediate right once entering the apartment he recently began sharing with Rachel, heading down the hall to the bedroom, Rachel close behind him.

"I'm too tired to even **think** about eating or showering," she mumbled, kicking her shoes off by her bedside.

Ross muttered in agreement as, toe to heel, he pushed his loafers off his feet, yanking the blankets and top sheet down before climbing into bed.

"Technically," Ross informed after a yawn, "We only have an hour, but I think I'll set the alarm for two hours, and forgo eating anything more than a sandwich, or something."

"Good idea," she agreed. "We can make a couple sandwiches and just eat them on the way back."

"Yeah," he sighed, settling in to sleep.

"It feels weird," she said after a moment, fairly certain Ross wasn't asleep yet.

"What does?" he asked groggily.

"To be thinking about simple things, like showers and eating sandwiches, when, to think, Monica could be dead right now."

Ross' eyes fluttered open, allowing Rachel's words to sink in.

"Yeah," he whispered, then turned over to gather her in his arms. "Try to sleep," he asked of her, kissing her shoulder.

She was definitely tired enough to sleep, but she wasn't so sure she would be able to. Not only because her thoughts often went back to Monica, but because the whole situation served to bring to her attention, how fragile life is.

Never in a million years, would she imagine one of their little group doing something like this. It was always something that happened to other people. Sad people. People with sad lives and no friends, but that didn't describe Monica, or anyone in their close-knit group.

If it could happen to one of them, it could happen to anyone.

Snuggling closer into Ross' side, she whispered, "I love you."

"I love you, too," he whispered back, pulling her tighter into his embrace.

***

--Tears fell down her face, but she didn't care. His expression carried so much anguish, even while sleeping, and she felt intense guilt for being the cause of his pain. For being the person responsible for that sad look on his face.

He didn't deserve the heartache she caused him.

Knowing on some level that he would be likely to blame himself for what she was about to do, she had the foresight to write him a letter, explaining everything, so he wouldn't go through life thinking he was the reason she killed herself. But, he obviously blamed himself anyway. It didn't make sense to her, and she struggled to remember what she wrote in those final minutes before climbing out on the ledge, trying to determine how he could have misunderstood her words.

The last thing she wanted was for him to blame himself.

Slowly, she raised her arm, the discomfort from doing so secondary in her mind as she placed her hand atop his head, smoothing down his hair. After a moment, he startled awake, his eyes flying to find hers, to remind himself where he was, and where she was and why.

"Sorry," Monica apologized. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's ok," he assured her, smiling. "Any longer in that position and I would've had one hell of a neck cramp."

That was what Chandler did. Make jokes to make someone else feel better, even if he was hurting. And it usually worked with her, but…

Things were different now. She'd changed things between them, and she didn't know what to say or do to get past it.

His smile faded when he saw the sadness in her eyes.

"Why are you blaming yourself for this, Chandler?" she asked him suddenly. "Why do you think it's your fault?"

Swallowing hard, he forced his voice to steady. "Because it is, isn't it?"

She shook her head as she told him, "No. It's not your fault. How could it be?"

"I couldn't help you," he sighed. "I tried-" His voice caught, and he shook his head in an attempt to regain his composure. 

"Chandler," she whispered, waiting for him to return her gaze before continuing. "Didn't the letter help at all?"

His expression showed him to be confused by the question, his brow furrowed. "What letter?"

"This letter."

Chandler and Monica both turned to see Phoebe and Joey, standing in the doorway, an envelope in Phoebe's outstretched hand.

**TO BE CONTINUED**…

Please, leave a review! I live for them. You don't want me to die, now do you?


	5. 5

The One Where Mercury Continues

Original story by: Ezika

Continued with permission. Thanks, Ezika!

Continuation by: Jana~

Chapter Five

*****

--When writing down all she was feeling, Monica did so with the knowledge that she would be gone before he saw it, and would therefore not have to watch as he read the words. She knew she wouldn't be able to handle it, seeing Chandler's face, watching as tears streamed down his cheeks, knowing her words were the cause, so she asked him to leave before reading it.

She knew she would have to deal with it, with **him, eventually, but this would buy her time. So she could prepare herself for his response. Good or bad.**

***

--Reluctant to leave her side at first, it was Phoebe's promise that she would stay with Monica that finally convinced him it would be ok to pull himself away from her bedside. Joey asked him if he wanted company, but Chandler declined the offer. He wanted to be alone as he read the letter.

--The sanctuary was near-empty, just a few scattered people, silently sitting or praying; one woman was crying, and he instantly felt bad for her, even though he knew nothing about her or her situation.

Taking a seat in the very back, off to the side, he took a deep breath before opening the envelope, pulling the note into view.

***

--"Your mother told me what happened," Jack said as he entered his daughter's room, gently demanding attention.

Phoebe immediately took her leave, knowing the two had a lot to talk about. She knew Chandler wouldn't mind that she broke her promise, since she left Monica in capable hands.

--"You know she doesn't mean the things she says," Jack continued once Phoebe had left the room, taking a seat by Monica's bedside to explain the actions of a woman few understood. "She was just so worried, when we got the call. We both were."

"She cried the whole way over here," he told her as he wiped a tear from her cheek. "She just doesn't handle stress well."

"So, she's stressed every time she sees me?" she asked her father. "Or talks to me on the phone? She's always demeaning me, Dad. She's never happy about any of my accomplishments, yet Ross can do no wrong!"

"It was how she was raised, sweetie. In our day, boys were treated differently. Raised differently. Girls were held to higher standards. She saw so much potential in you- **sees** so much potential in you, and she thinks the only way she can encourage you is with tough love. It's how **her** mom treated her. It's all she knows."

"I just wish, just once, that she could be in the same room with me **without** criticizing me."

"Sweetie, if she didn't care, she wouldn't waste her time."

"If she **did** care, she could try having at least **one** kind word for me on occasion!"

"Like, Monica is such a wonderful chef, any restaurant would be lucky to have her, and, if Richard let Monica slip away, he's a fool?"

Monica just stared back at her father, unsure of what to say, unsure of what he was saying, exactly.

Jack nodded. "She has said all those things and more," he informed her.

"But not to my face," she squeaked out, new tears falling.

"No, you're right, she rarely compliments you to your face, but she does feel it," he said, touching his finger to his chest, pointing at his heart, "In here."

"Well," she muttered sadly, "Sometimes, that's just not enough."

Jack sighed, torn between a daughter hurting, and a wife who loves her, but can't seem to show it. "Sweetie, she blames herself for this. This, jumping off the balcony."

"Attempted suicide, Dad. You can say the words," she told him. "I know what I tried to do. And why does everyone think this was **their fault?" she added, flustered.**

"We're just trying to understand why you did this."

"Me too," she admitted.

***

--Tears spilling had rapidly become the standard reaction from Chandler. He had cried more in the past two days, than he ever had in his entire life, and now even more tears fell, and he wasn't even able to get past the first sentence.

The note clutched in his hand, he ignored the warm drops that wet his face and the looks from the people around him as he repeated the sentence over and over again, silently in his head.

'Chandler, Soon, my pain will be over, but I fear my death will cause you pain that you do not deserve.'

He couldn't force himself to continue, his eyes refusing to leave that sentence, in a way protecting him from the heartache contained in the words to come.

"Can I be of help to you, my son?"

Chandler moved in slow motion, eventually lifting his gaze to the man who stood beside the pew. Wearing typical priest clothing, he determined instantly that the man was the hospital chaplain.

"I'm not Catholic," Chandler whispered as he looked away.

"That's not what I asked you," the priest returned, then gestured to the pew before sliding in next to him. "You seem to be troubled," he said in a soft consoling tone of voice. "Sometimes it helps to talk about things," he added, offering to lend his ear. "I'm Father Daniel."

"Chandler."

"What's troubling you, Chandler?"

The rhythmic sound he created by tapping the letter against his leg was, in a way, comforting. It gave him something to focus on, if even for a few moments.

Father Daniel sat, incredibly patient, waiting for the young man to find the words to confide in him. After several minutes, he finally did.

"My best friend," Chandler choked out, "Tried to kill herself. This," he waved the letter in his hand, "Was the suicide note she wrote to me, before she… jumped."

"I can imagine how hard it was for you to read that," Father Daniel comforted, but Chandler shook his head.

"I couldn't get past the first sentence," he admitted. "I can't seem to make myself read it."

"You're afraid of her words?"

"Terrified."

"Why?"

"I think I might be part of the reason," Chandler muttered. "Part of the reason she wanted to die."

"Why do you think that?"

"Cause, we…" He trailed off, remembering whom he was talking to. "We did, **something**, right before she jumped, that I should have put a stop to."

Father Daniel smiled just slightly. "Was this **something mutual?"**

"At the time," Chandler nodded, "But she obviously wasn't in her right frame of mind."

"Did you know that **before** you made love to her?"

Chandler startled, looking to the priest abruptly. "How did you-?"

"You're not the first person to beat around the bush when talking about sex."

"I thought you frowned on the whole, sex before marriage thing."

"We do," he admitted, "But it doesn't mean we're in the dark to the fact that it happens."

Chandler conceded the point with a nod. "I knew she was sad," he answered the previous question, "But I didn't know she was suicidally depressed."

"Do you think she is angry with you? Do you think she feels that you took advantage of her?"

With a noticeable wince, Chandler mumbled, "I don't know."

"Do **you** think you took advantage of her?"

"I don't know. I knew at the time- felt at the time, that maybe she was too vulnerable, and not thinking clearly, and I told her I didn't think it was a good idea, but, she convinced me."

"How?" Father Daniel asked. "In what way did she convince you?"

"She begged me to, **be**, with her. She started undressing me."

"So, you responded to her advances?"

"Yeah."

"It doesn't sound to me like you did anything wrong," the priest told him. "Except for the whole, sex before marriage thing," he added with a tiny smile, but the look faded into something more serious within seconds. "Chandler, why do you think **you** are the reason she wanted to die?"

Sighing, he admitted, "She said we shouldn't have done it."

"When?"

"When she was standing on the ledge, ready to jump."

"You saw her jump?"

Chandler nodded.

"I know you are not Catholic, but may I pray with you?"

Chandler shrugged. "Ok."

***

--"Do you think we should go find Chandler?" Joey asked as he and Phoebe once again suffered with the horrible cafeteria coffee. "I'm worried about him, reading that letter from Monica all alone. Especially after that breakdown he had," he added.

"It'll be ok, Joey," Phoebe soothed, knowing how hard her friend was taking all that was happening. "He'll have some serious decisions to make, and so will she, but it'll be ok."

"How can you be so calm?" Joey suddenly asked. "I haven't seen you cry yet, really. I woulda thought, with your mom and all," he carefully worded his sentence, "That you would've been more upset."

"I **am** upset, and I **have** cried," she told him, "It's just sometimes, you can't see the tears I shed. I learned how to control my outward emotions at a very young age. That, and I know it'll all work out," she added, avoiding the subject of her mother's suicide.

"How? How do you know that?"

"Psychic thing," she muttered casually, tipping the Styrofoam cup to her lips.

"How can you know it's gonna be ok, but not see it coming in the first place?"

"I can't see everything," she explained. "I wish I **had seen it coming. I could've saved them so much pain. Everyone so much pain." Her sad tone didn't go unnoticed.**

"Oh, no!" Joey exclaimed, "Don't **you go blaming yourself now, **too**!"**

In an effort to reassure him, she offered a slight smile. "I'm not blaming myself. I know it's not my fault. Or Chandler's. Or even Monica's, really. Severe depression isn't anyone's **fault, it just happens, sometimes for reasons unknown."**

"Wow," he muttered reverently, "That's deep."

"I heard that **many** times, after my mom killed herself."

He placed his hand gently on her back, comforting her. "If you want a shoulder to cry on," he offered, "You can use mine. If you want."

Joey quickly gathered her into his arms when the tears started to flow, as she allowed emotions that had been locked away in the little box in her mind to finally be released.

***

--Unable to fall asleep, Rachel just stared at the ceiling, her mind so full of thoughts, she was only partially aware of Ross' presence beside her in bed. It wasn't till he spoke up that she came out of her reverie.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, to which she shook her head. "Me either," he admitted.

"I just can't get it out of my head, you know?" He nodded in response. "I can't stop thinking about- about how it might be our fault," she admitted hesitantly. "Cause we were so wrapped up with moving in together, we didn't see the signs."

"I know," he muttered softly, "But, Chandler was with her quite a bit, and even **he didn't see it coming."**

"But at least he was **with her! Where were we?" she asked rhetorically. "Off playing house!"**

"This isn't our fault, Rachel," he stated firmly, trying to convince himself as much as his live-in girlfriend.

"He didn't see the signs," she continued, "But maybe **we** would have."

"Or, maybe she would've done the same thing to us that she did with Chandler! Push us away! Lie and say everything was fine! The fact of the matter is, she didn't want help, and she didn't make it known how bad it was, until she was on that ledge, her mind made up."

She sighed deeply as she snuggled closer against Ross' side. "How lost do you have to be, to want to die like that, ya'know? Would that ever happen to me?" she asked, not really expecting an answer. "If I lost someone I loved, if you and I broke up, would it be so painful, that I would leap to my death?"

"You'll never have to find that out," he promised her. "And besides," he added, "It wasn't just the break-up," he reminded her. "It was the loss of the baby, and the hormonal imbalance…"

"And the feeling utterly alone," she picked up where his sentence trailed off. "Cause all her friends were off being happy, oblivious to her pain." He placed a gentle kiss in her hair, holding her tighter, wanting so badly to take away her anguish. "If I hadn't moved out," she whispered, "I would have seen the signs."

"Don't do this, Rach," he asked of her. "Don't blame yourself for this. You are **not the reason she jumped."**

"No," she admitted meekly, "Maybe not. But I could have prevented it. I could've intervened, when I saw how bad she was getting, but I **didn't** live there, so I **didn't** see how bad she was getting."

"But where do you draw the line?" he questioned her. "Will you never get married? Never have kids? Never move away, cause maybe, just maybe, your usually-strong friend just **might have an emotional breakdown?"**

"I don't know," she cried softly.

"You can't live life like that, Rach. You can't just, stop living, just because someone you love is having a hard time."

"No, but you can **be there for them!"**

"We **tried to be!" he shot back. "Remember? Every time we went over there, she would yell at us! Usually for no reason! She seemed more angry than depressed. If she had been acting depressed, and we ignored her, then, yeah, maybe you would have a point. She gave us no signs, Rach!"**

"I just want to go back in time, and **fix** this. Go back and be there for her. Even if she yelled or told us to get out, I would stay."

"I know," he muttered consolingly, kissing her before moving to leave the bed. "There's no way we're gonna be able to sleep," he announced, "So, why don't we just go back to the hospital."

She nodded, wiping at her tears before swinging her legs over the side, slipping into her shoes that sat exactly where she had kicked them off.

"Hey, you're smart," she said out of nowhere, calling his attention. "Why don't **you build a time machine?"**

"Cause, as smart as I am," he returned with a touch of sarcasm to his tone, "I can't do the impossible."

***

--"It's not that I **don't want to read it," Chandler explained to Father Daniel, in reference to the letter he still held, "I want to know what it says, I just- I can't seem to ****make myself read it. I keep hearing her voice in my head… See the image of her jumping…"**

"Chandler," Father Daniel asked softly, "Would you like me to read it to you?" The look on Chandler's face told him he was considering it. "Anything said to me, or that I read in this way, is held in strictest confidence."

Slowly, Chandler nodded, handing the now-crumpled paper over to the priest.

"Let's go to the confessional," he suggested to Chandler. "It will give us privacy."

--The room was small, with no windows, and only one door; in the center sat two chairs, one for the priest, one for the confessor, Chandler assumed.

Taking a deep breath to try and settle his nerves, Chandler took a seat in the second chair, waiting for Father Daniel to begin reading the words he needed, but was also dreading to hear.

**TO BE CONTINUED**…

Please, leave a review! It's like Tinkerbell, and having to clap to keep her alive. Without reviews, I just cease to exist.


	6. 6

The One Where Mercury Continues

Original story by: Ezika

Continued with permission. Thanks, Ezika!

Continuation by: Jana~

Chapter Six

******

--Ross and Rachel navigated the halls of the hospital, knowing their way around better than they would have thought possible. After eating the sandwiches Ross had made for them, they grabbed a cab, stopping off at Starbucks before heading for the hospital. Their coffee cups remained in their hands as they proceeded towards Monica's room.

"You know what I was thinking?" Rachel said out of the blue, as she followed beside Ross, his pace slow but steady.

"What?" he asked absently.

"I was thinking, maybe I should move back in with Monica for a bit. Just till she's doing better."

Ross stopped abruptly, turning to face her. "You want to move out? We just started living together."

"No, I don't **want** to move out," she explained, "I just think Monica is gonna need some help, or company, for a little while. After all this."

With a sigh, Ross nodded as he looked at the ground. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Guys, you're back early!"

Ross and Rachel both looked over to see Phoebe and Joey nearing, from the general direction of the cafeteria.

"Um, we couldn't sleep," Ross said, glancing at Rachel before facing the two approaching friends. "Why are you guys so early?"

Phoebe and Joey shared looks before she answered.

"We found a note on Monica's end table, addressed to Chandler. A suicide note," she added.

"Oh, God," Rachel gasped.

"Did you give it to Chandler?" Ross asked; Phoebe nodded. "What did he say about it?"

"We haven't seen him," Joey informed, "Since he left to go read it."

"He left?" Rachel asked. "Where'd he go?"

"He's still here," Phoebe told them. "In the hospital. He just wanted to be alone when he read it. That, and Monica asked that he not be in the room with her while he did," she added, "Cause she said it would make her uncomfortable."

"It was just addressed to Chandler?" Ross asked. "Not to all of us?"

"Well, it's mostly to Chandler, but she mentions us in it too," Phoebe explained.

"What?" Ross exclaimed. "You **read it?"**

Joey gave Phoebe a light slap on the shoulder, reminding her that **he** had suggested they **not read it.**

"Well, it wasn't sealed," she defended her actions, "And we- **I**," she corrected, "**I** was worried, so, I read it. We **both** did," she added, then glared back at Joey, "But only because we wanted to help her."

"How does reading Chandler's private note help her?!" Ross asked, upset.

"It helps us to know what she was thinking," Phoebe replied. "It helps us understand how she got **there, at that point where death is better than living."**

"If you read it," Rachel stated softly, "Then, you know. You know how she got **there**." Phoebe nodded. "How?" Rachel asked.

***

--Staring at nothing, Chandler sat silently, allowing the words to sink in. Every emotion possible was bombarding him, all at the same time. Sadness, love, pity, anger, frustration… all that and more challenged him as Father Daniel read the note Monica had written. He couldn't stop picturing her as the words were recited, as she looked while on the ledge, the rain drenching her, the vacant look in her eyes, her limbs not much more than skin and bones.

The one thing that surprised him, was that he no longer felt responsible for what she had done, or attempted to do. The letter was raw and emotional and completely honest, and it in no way pointed back to him as being at fault. If anything, it was their relationship and feelings for one-another that almost stopped her from doing it at all.

She made brief mention of her brother, parents, and friends, but the majority of the note was directed at him. He could tell she wrote it after they had been together, cause she talked about it, but not in the way he expected her to.

While on the ledge, she'd said that it had been a mistake, but the letter pointed to something different entirely. An entirely different viewpoint, which for a moment, actually made him happy, till he realized the context of the revelation.

His mind was running in a million directions at once, and it was Father Daniel calling to him that snapped him back into reality and away from his many thoughts.

"Chandler, are you ok?"

He looked up at the priest, trying his best to smile reassuringly. "Yeah. Just… overwhelmed."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't know what to think, right now. I mean, on one hand, if not for the fact that she is lying in a hospital bed, completely messed up, I would be, in a way, happy over some of what she'd said. But, **now, I don't know what to do. Or think. I don't know what to say to her," he added, running his hand through his hair in frustration.**

"If I go in there and talk to her," he continued, "And I say the wrong thing… I don't want to be the cause of her being in any more pain."

"So, then, you don't agree with her?"

"I don't know," he answered. "Part of me does, but part of me, is worried."

"Maybe time is what you both need," Father Daniel suggested. "Time to heal, and to grow, and to reconcile all that has happened."

With a heavy sigh, Chandler nodded as he took the letter from Father Daniel's outstretched hand, tucking it back into its envelope.

***

--She was paraphrasing, but Phoebe had recounted all she remembered about the note, Ross and Rachel shocked by what they were hearing.

"Since when does she feel like that?" Ross asked.

Phoebe and Joey both shrugged.

"It makes sense though," Rachel commented, "I mean, if you think about it." Off their questioning looks, she explained further. "She had a crush on him, the Thanksgiving **before** she cut off his toe. And look how close they've always been. It just, makes sense," she reiterated, "Don't you think?"

With a shrug, Ross muttered, "Yeah, I guess I see your point, I'm just, I'm surprised, I guess. Neither one of them told us any of this."

"To be fair," Phoebe interjected, "They didn't even tell **each other."**

"True," Ross agreed, "I just- I feel like I don't even **know the two people I ****should know best."**

"Chandler," Phoebe whispered.

"Yeah," Ross replied, "And Monica," he added, expanding on what he thought was Phoebe's contribution to the conversation.

"No," she said sotto, then pointed down the hall. "Chandler's coming."

Everyone turned, watching as their friend, whom they hadn't really seen since his breakdown, approach.

"All eyes on me," Chandler said once within earshot. "Do I even have to ask?" he questioned, gesturing to them as a group, implying that they must be talking about the obvious subject.

Without warning, taking everyone by surprise, Ross stepped forward and embraced Chandler.

Hesitantly, Chandler hugged back, patting his friend as he looked at the others, questioning them silently. It wasn't the reaction he was expecting from Ross, seeing as how he'd slept with his sister.

"What's going on?" Chandler asked as Ross pulled away.

"We were just talking about the letter," Joey answered, wincing when Chandler's attention snapped over to him.

"You read it?" Chandler asked him, causing him to immediately begin fidgeting.

Joey looked to Phoebe before nodding. "But it was **her idea!" he exclaimed, pointing at Phoebe.**

Phoebe threw him a look before addressing Chandler. "We were just trying to help. We thought, if we knew-"

"Pheebs," Chandler interrupted, "It's ok."

"It is?" she asked.

"It is?" Ross then asked, surprised.

"Yeah. I understand. I probably would have done the same thing, if I were in the same position."

"You would?" Joey asked.

"You would?" Ross repeated.

"Is there an echo in here?" Chandler joked.

"So," Rachel asked, blowing past his attempt at humor. "What are you gonna say to her?"

Chandler sighed, "I'm not exactly sure yet. Father Daniel suggested that we will probably need time to heal and stuff, before we can even entertain the idea of- Well, you know."

"Who's Father Daniel?" Joey asked.

"The hospital chaplain," Chandler informed. "He, well, sorta, helped me," he admitted reluctantly.

"With what?" Ross asked.

"With, reading the letter," Chandler answered. "Mostly. And dealing with what it said, a little."

"I don't understand," Joey said with a slight scowl. "What did he do, **read** the letter to you?"

"Well… yeah," Chandler confessed. "Actually, he did. I tried to read it, but I couldn't get past the first sentence. It was like, my head was trying to protect my heart, cause it knew the words were going to be hard to hear." With a shrug, he added, "Father Daniel was sympathetic to that, so he offered to read it to me."

"So, what are you going to do now?" Phoebe asked. "Avoid her for a while?"

Shaking his head, Chandler said, "No, of course not. I'm gonna go **talk** to her, but, I'm just going to let her know, that, at least for a while, we should focus on healing, before we think about anything else."

"I think that's a good idea," Ross agreed.

"I'm thinking about moving in with her," Rachel informed. "At least for a little while."

"Really?" Phoebe asked, looking between Ross and Rachel, Ross looking down at the ground.

"I think she's gonna need some help," Rachel explained. "I wasn't there for her **before** this happened, I'm sure as hell going to be there for her **now."**

"You don't get to blame yourself for this," Chandler told her. "That's my job, but I'm quitting it."

Phoebe smiled. "No more blaming yourself?"

"No more," Chandler affirmed. "And, Rachel, you won't need to move in with Monica."

"I won't?" she asked, curious. "Why not?"

"Because," he answered, "I am."

"What?" Joey asked, as did Phoebe and Rachel.

"What are you talking about?" Ross asked.

"Not like that," Chandler assured him, taking the leap that his friend was assuming it would be something romantic. "I'll move into Rachel's old room. I know my place is only across the hall, but to be a little closer, would be better. The closer the better," he added. 

"You and Ross **just** moved in together," he continued. "You know she's gonna tell you no, if you offer to move in. She'll feel as though you're putting your life, or plans on hold, because of her. She may even say no to **me, but I won't take it as an answer."**

"Are you sure about this?" Ross asked, glancing at Rachel first.

"Very sure," he returned with a nod. "We need to work together, to get through this."

Ross looked back at Rachel to see what her reaction would be.

"If you think that's best," she said in response. "I just wanted to help."

"I know," Chandler said, pulling her into an embrace. "I'm not trying to take that away from you, but, I think **this will be an easier transition, for both her ****and I."**

"I think he's right," Phoebe interjected. "If you had read her note, you would agree," she added.

"Speaking of," Ross inquired, "Would it be possible for **me to read it?"**

"Me, too?" Rachel added timidly.

Chandler seemed to give their request thought before nodding, retrieving the letter from his pocket. "I'm gonna want it back, though," he told them, and they both agreed.

"I'm gonna go in and see her now," Chandler announced after handing the worn envelope to Ross. "I'll see you guys in a bit."

He took a deep breath and pseudo waved before turning to face the hall that led to her room, hearing all his friends wish him luck as he walked away.

--Staring at the door, he gathered his nerve before pushing into the room, immediately being met by Monica's gaze.

"Hey," she said softly, smiling just slightly. "I was beginning to wonder if I was going to see you again."

His expression changed to remorseful as he realized, the length of time it took him to get back to her caused her concern. "No, no," he assured her, "I was just, doing some thinking. And I ran into everyone in the hall. Of **course** I would be coming back."

She nodded, looking away. His bright blue eyes were just a reminder of what she had done, or tried to do. The way he looked at her, stark fear written all over his face as she stared back at him while on the ledge, ready to jump.

The cessation of sound between them seemed to last forever, though in her logical brain she knew he had only been in the room for about 90 seconds. Still, their inability to be in the other's presence unnerved her, and caused her to worry about their future together.

"Look, Monica, I read the letter," he finally said, breaking through the dense silence. "It was just- just, so-"

"Excuse me?" a voice interrupted, "But visiting hours are now over."

Chandler turned to see a nurse standing in the doorway, her expression and stance unyielding.

"I thought I had another two hours," he told the woman in white, tapping at his watch.

"Not on weekends," she returned, sounding annoyed.

With an exasperated sigh, he looked at Monica briefly before turning back to the nurse. "Look, can I have, like, five minutes?" he asked of her, only to get a sharp shaking of her head in response. "Two minutes then?" Again, she shook her head no. "One minute? Please, I'll make it fast! You can even **time** me," he added, pointing at his own watch.

"Fine," she grunted. "One minute. And I'm timing you!" she added as she held her watch up to view it.

"That's fine," he replied with as gracious a tone as he could muster, then waited for her to leave. When she didn't, he cleared his throat, his irritation coming through. "Can you do that **out there?" he requested, pointing at the door.**

"Fine," she said with a huff, then spun on her heal and marched out of the room.

"I guess I don't have long," he told Monica, "Till nurse Ratched comes back and shoos me away." Monica smiled at his little joke. "Look, I didn't want to do this all rushed, but to spare you from worrying all night, I'm just going to tell you this."

Stepping closer to her bedside, he carefully tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear in a loving gesture. "I think we have a lot of healing to do, and I think we need to focus on that **first, before we make any life-altering decisions."**

When she nodded, he continued. "I'm gonna move in with you." Before she could say anything, he hurried on. "And don't even **bother saying no to me, cause I won't take no for an answer. I know I'm right across the hall, but that will seem like miles away, when you're in need of someone to talk to, and I don't want it to feel like that. Especially when you're in need."**

"It'll be good," he added. "For both of us."

Just then the nurse reentered, clearing her throat to get Chandler's attention.

"I guess I have to go now," he said quietly, then leaned in close to her, smiling down on her. "I love you, Monica," he whispered, then lightly kissed her lips. "I'll be back tomorrow, ok?"

Tears lined her eyes as she wordlessly nodded, watching as he walked out of the room, looking back once at the door to smile and wave.

**TO BE CONTINUED**…

Ok, c'mon guys, let's see those reviews! If you don't review, I'll cry. To quote Monica: "Do you want me to cry? Is that what you want? Do you wanna see me cry?"

We have a saying in our house, and it is: "It all goes back to a 'Friends' quote."

It's true, too!

MTLBYAKY


	7. 7

The One Where Mercury Continues

Original story by: Ezika

Continued with permission. Thanks, Ezika!

Continuation by: Jana~

Chapter Seven

*******

**ALMOST ONE YEAR LATER**

--"Do you know what next week is?" the therapist asked Monica.

Monica looked back at the older plumper woman, the person she considered just as much a friend as a Dr, and a slight smile crossed her lips as she nodded. "It's the one-year anniversary," she answered.

"Of?" the Dr prompted.

"Of my attempted suicide," Monica returned.

"And how do we feel about that?" Dr Wagner asked her patient.

Monica sighed, looking around the impeccably clean office. That had been one of the deciding factors for choosing Dr Wagner, because they had a love of cleaning in common. "I'm a little nervous about it," she answered, "But I'm not freaking out."

The Dr smiled. "Were you expecting to?"

"I wasn't sure," Monica admitted. "I guess that means I still have a ways to go, huh?"

"Not necessarily," she explained. "It's actually quite common to be anxious about the anniversary of something so traumatic."

"I suppose," Monica muttered.

"Do you feel you are not where you'd like to be, or should be? With our sessions?"

"I'm not sure. You would know better than I."

"Well, let me ask you, how are the nightmares?"

"Better. Haven't had one in over a month."

"And how are you getting along with your friends? And brother?"

"Good. It was awkward at first, when I first got home, but things are slowly getting back to normal."

"Define normal," The Dr requested. "Tell me what happens on a normal day with your friends."

"Well, **before**, we would get together for breakfast, usually at my place. I would cook. Then, after we all got off work, we would usually meet up at the coffeehouse and, just, spend time together. Talk, tell jokes, share our day. Sometimes we would have dinner together, unless one of us had a date. Again, usually at my place, with me cooking."

"And did that bother you? To be the one who was usually cooking?"

"No, actually, I **loved** being the hostess."

"You don't anymore?"

"Well, no- yeah, I still like being the hostess, but, I think everyone is a little worried. That, if they come over a lot, like they used to, that it'll be, I don't know, too much for me to deal with."

"Do you agree with them?"

"Not really. I mean, I'm still working out some issues, sure, but, I can certainly cook a couple meals a few times per week."

"Have you told them how you feel? Have you let them know that you miss being the hostess?"

"I've told Chandler."

The Dr smiled. "And, speaking of Chandler, how is your relationship with him now?"

"Good. Real good, actually."

"How has it been since he's moved out?"

"Well, we don't see each other as often, but, he comes over every morning, and after work."

"And how are things with your roommate? Rachel?" she asked, and Monica nodded.

"Better," Monica replied. "It was strained at first, cause she had just broken up with my brother, and they were fighting and bickering all the time, but they're friends now."

"What about your mom?" Dr Wagner asked as she jotted down some notes.

"What about her?" Monica asked, a slight grin on her face.

"How has your relationship with her been?"

"Not bad. We talked, and she explained her need to criticize, and I explained my need **not** to be criticized. I think we found a happy medium."

"That's great," she praised, making more notes in her file. "Let's get back to Chandler for a minute," she requested. "Has there been any more discussion about your feelings for him?"

Monica shook her head. "We decided, before I even left the hospital, that we would work on healing first, before we brought it up again."

"And does he think you have more healing to do? That you're not yet ready to move on?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "I haven't asked him."

"Are you afraid to ask him?"

"Not really afraid, but, I am worried that it might be too soon."

"Too soon to move forward, or to talk about it?"

"Both," Monica admitted.

"And when would be the right time, to talk about it?"

"I don't honestly know. I thought, maybe, after a year, but here we are, approaching the one-year anniversary, and it still doesn't seem right. Or like it's time."

"To talk about it?"

Monica nodded, "Yeah."

"What **do** you talk about, when you're together?"

"Lots of stuff. Work, movies, our friends, current events. Sometimes, we don't have to talk at all. We'll just be, **together. Just sit and do nothing, and say nothing, and we're both just **so** comfortable, we know it's not needed."**

"Sounds like a very comfortable friendship."

Monica smiled thoughtfully. "It is."

"So, let me ask you, Monica," Dr Wagner asked. "Will you always play it safe? Or will you eventually take that risk, and tell Chandler what you **really** want?"

Eyes downcast, Monica sighed. "I think it might be better if I wait for him to bring it up. I want to be sure he's ready. If I bring it up first, he might feel pressured."

"Or, maybe he's waiting for **you to bring it up first. Because, maybe he feels that **you** would know better, where you are emotionally, and he doesn't want to pressure ****you."**

"Maybe," Monica conceded, "But, I'm just not ready to take the risk. Yet."

"Fair enough," the Dr said with a nod. "Let's go back to the anniversary," she suggested. "What are your plans for the 23rd?"

"Chandler's taking me out, but I don't know to where. He says it's a surprise."

"Does that worry you?"

Monica scowled. "Does **what** worry me?"

"The date."

"It's not a date. We go out together all the time."

"Does he usually keep the whereabouts a secret?"

"Well, no."

"Do you think he has something special planned? That, maybe, he wants to talk to you about all this now?"

After a moment, Monica insisted, "I didn't before, but, now that you mention it…"

"And how do you feel about that?"

"Nervous," she admitted.

"Why?"

She stared back at her Dr, a worried expression on her face. "I don't know if I'm ready for this to happen yet."

"Why not?" Dr Wagner asked. "What is holding you back from taking this step?"

Monica shook her head. "I hurt him. Bad," she added, her voice catching on the emotion. "What if I'm not **really** ok? What if- if something bad happens, and I get **that** depressed again? I don't want to hurt him again."

"Monica, are you concerned, that if you lost Chandler, you might try again to commit suicide?"

"I don't know! I mean, I never thought of myself as the kind of person who would be able to do something like that, but, I did! How can I be sure that it won't happen again?"

"You get help, when you feel yourself losing control, instead of hiding away, and allowing it to fester and grow. You confide in your friends, and in your family. They love you, and will help you, if you let them."

"But I don't want to be there again. I don't want to get to a point where I need intervention. I want to be the way I was before. Strong."

"So, you think if you avoid situations that may make you sad, you'll avoid being in that place again?" the Dr asked, and Monica responded with a shrug. "You can't live in safety all your life. Life is about living, and the unknown, and dealing with situations that come your way. You'll never be able to avoid every issue. Eventually, problems and dilemmas will present themselves, and you'll need to deal with them. You can't run forever," she added with a great seriousness.

"I know," Monica replied, "And I **want that, I just don't know that I'm ready yet. I don't know if I'm ready to deal with Chandler. About this."**

"Would it help if we brought him in on these sessions?"

Monica's eyes grew wide. "We can do that?"

"Of course," the Dr replied. "Do you think he would be willing?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"How about for your next session?"

Monica nodded. "I'll ask him."

"Why don't we break the routine," Dr Wagner suggested, "And have you come in on the 23rd."

"On the anniversary?"

She nodded. "We can schedule it for before your plans with Chandler."

"Yeah, ok," Monica agreed. "I'll ask him."

"If the 23rd isn't good for Chandler, just call the office and reschedule for a time that **is**, ok?"

Monica nodded, taking the appointment card from the Dr's hand as she stood. "See'ya next week."

***

--Monica wrung her hands, waiting for him to enter. Every time she even **thought** she heard the door open, she would look over her shoulder to see. Checking her watch for the hundredth time, she reached for her coffee mug, proud of herself for having chosen decaf, since caffeine would only serve to make her jumpier than she already was.

When he stepped in on someone else's push, he immediately spotted her, sipping coffee on the ugly orange couch, alone. He briefly wondered where everyone was as he approached.

Seeing him out of her peripheral vision, she reacted to his presence only after he had joined her on the well-worn sofa.

"Where is everyone?" he asked.

"I asked them to go," she admitted, "Cause I need to talk to you about something."

Chandler could see how antsy she was, and his first reaction was that of concern. "Why? What's wrong? Are you ok? Did something happen?"

"Calm down, Chandler," Monica instructed. "I'm fine. Just a little nervous about having this conversation, is all."

He settled in, waiting for her to begin.

"At my session today," she stated carefully, "My Dr said she wanted to, move my next appointment, to the 23rd, and, she also wanted to know if- if you would consider coming to it with me."

With a thoughtful expression he asked, "Instead of us going out?"

"No," she told him, "**Before** we go out."

"Oh. Um, yeah, sure," he said, less assuredly than Monica thought appropriate or needed.

"If you don't want to, that's fine," she told him. "It's not like it's mandatory-"

"Monica," he interrupted her, "It's not that I don't want to. I'm just, surprised, is all, that your Dr wants me there."

"It's not all **that** weird," she explained. "I mean, I talk about you all the time, she probably just wants to touch base with the man that holds such importance in my life."

He smiled, putting his arm around her and pulling her to him in a slight embrace. "You're important to me, too," he told her softly. "And of course I'll go."

With a deep sigh, she placed her head on his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered.

***

--"So, Chandler," Dr Wagner began, "Why don't we start with what happened one year ago today?"

"Wow," he said jokingly, "You don't waste any time getting to the personal stuff, eh, Doc?"

She smiled in return, then jotted something down on her pad of paper.

"Oh, yeah," he told her, "Be sure to make a note of that. I make jokes when I'm uncomfortable."

"Why are you uncomfortable?" 

"Well, for starters, I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing here."

"You're here to help Monica," the Dr replied.

"Hey, I'd do anything for Monica," he defended, "But, how is me being here helping her?"

"The two of you have a deep-seeded history, from what she tells me. You are very important to her, and even at her darkest moment, she confided in you before anyone else."

"But, it still wasn't enough to stop her," he interjected sadly.

"I know, and from what Monica has told me, for a while at least, you blamed yourself for this," Dr Wagner mentioned, and Chandler nodded. "Do you still?"

He shook his head. "No. I know it wasn't my fault."

"But you still carry guilt, or somehow feel dejected, because you couldn't 'save her'?"

"Maybe," he shrugged. "Maybe a little."

"And you saw her jump," she said as she changed course slightly.

"Yeah," he muttered then reached over and took Monica's hand.

"Tell me about that," she requested, hiding a smile as she caught the obvious display of affection.

"How will me reliving that help Monica?" he asked, challenging her. He didn't want to talk about it; he knew it would cause them both to cry. That was something he wanted to avoid. "I already discussed **my feelings with a shrink," he added.**

"You saw a grief counselor after the attempted suicide?" she asked him.

"Yeah. I sorta had, a nervous breakdown, her first day at the hospital."

"They had to sedate him," Monica added.

"Is it a hard subject to talk about?" she inquired, her tone kind. "Is it hard to talk about what you saw, and what you felt?"

"Yeah," Monica admitted timidly.

"Of course it's hard," Chandler returned. He didn't much care for shrinks anyway, and since that day one year ago, he'd had his fill of them.

"Have you **ever** discussed it? Just the two of you, or in a support group with others?"

Chandler and Monica looked at one-another before slowly shaking their heads.

"Why not?" the Dr asked.

With a sigh, Chandler said, "It makes her sad. It makes **me sad, and we've had enough sadness."**

"So, you just avoid talking about it? You've **never talked about it?"**

"We did a little," he muttered in reply. "In the beginning, but, after a while, it just seemed to rip open the wound when we **would mention it, so, we just stopped mentioning it."**

"What about when she had the nightmares?" Dr Wagner asked. "She never told you about her nightmares?"

"She told me she had them, but not what was **in them. I didn't need to know, to console her."**

"You shouldn't avoid discussing this," she advised them. "It will only delay the healing. Talking about it shouldn't be something you fear, it should be something you embrace."

"Hard to embrace something that brings so much pain," Chandler countered.

"Yes, you're right, but the pain is only temporary. It's like ripping off a band-aid to get to the wound. It hurts for a moment, but then the pain subsides, and you have your feelings exposed so that they can be treated and healed."

"So," Monica asked, "Where do we go from here?"

"Well, let's start with Chandler," the Dr suggested. "Chandler, share with Monica, how you were feeling when you two shared that intimate time together earlier, before she jumped."

His eyebrow arched, and he looked at the Dr skeptically.

"Chandler," she assured him, "I'm a Doctor. Trust me, I've heard many a story that involves sex. Just, talk to Monica," she instructed. "Pretend I'm not even here."

He looked over at Monica, with an expression that seemed to say, I don't want to do this, and she smiled apologetically in return.

Sighing heavily, he physically turned himself to face her, his eyes downcast as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I was confused. One second, I'm kissing your tears away, the next, we were kissing passionately. My brain kept telling me to pull away, that you were vulnerable, but God, it felt so good to be with you like that. Then you were unbuttoning my shirt, and I had just enough wits about me to stop you, but then you said you needed me."

He took a deep breath, trying to settle his nerves before continuing. "I needed you, too. I **so** needed you, and you were begging me… I couldn't stop myself. You seemed so frail, and it was like I was taking care of you, in a way."

"It was beautiful," he continued, "When we were together. And I wanted so bad to hold you, forever, but I fell asleep. God, how I wish I hadn't. I'm **so** sorry I did."

Monica shook her head silently, as if to say it was ok, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Monica," the Dr cut in, "Tell Chandler how **you were feeling, at that same time."**

She nodded, wiping the tears from her face before starting. "It just felt right," she said in a whisper. "All of the sudden, something clicked, and I realized… I wanted you. And not just to hold me or lend me your ear, but to really **be with** me. It seemed so clear in that moment. It seemed so obvious and right."

"When you backed away… when you seemed reluctant, I felt lost," she admitted. "I know I wouldn't have been able to take the rejection, but somehow, you knew that, didn't you?" she asked, rhetorical for the most part, but he gave a brief slight nod in response.

"When we were, **together**, I hadn't been that happy in months. And it wasn't just the act. It was the closeness, and the connection. I wanted you inside me, forever. But then it ended. And guilt set in."

"Ok," Dr Wagner jumped in, "Monica, let's continue from there. What happened, in your mind, between that moment of being happier than you'd been in months, and wanting to die?"

**TO BE CONTINUED**…

Up until I was twenty-five I thought the only response to 'I love you' was 'oh crap'!

Please review!

I'm not good at the advice, can I interest you in a sarcastic comment?

Please review!

My gynecologist tried to kill me.

Please review!

Tea tends to give me the trots.

Oh, and by the way, PLEASE REVIEW!

MTLBYAKY


	8. 8

The One Where Mercury Continues

Original story by: Ezika

Continued with permission. Thanks, Ezika!

Continuation by: Jana~

Chapter Eight

********

--Monica didn't have an answer to the Dr's question. She had asked herself that very question a thousand times, but, as hard as she tried, she couldn't come up with an explanation for what happened between feeling happy in Chandler's arms and wanting to end it all.

"I don't honestly know," she replied. "I just remember feeling like- like I was suddenly being swallowed whole, by **something. By sadness and despair. Death seemed the only way to stop it."**

"Why didn't you wake Chandler?" Dr Wagner asked. "Why didn't you talk to him about it?"

"I didn't want him to talk me out of it."

"Why not?"

"Because, I knew he **would**. He would've held me, and kissed me, and he would've promised me the world, and I couldn't do that to him."

"Do what to him?"

"Take him with me."

"Take him with you, where?"

Monica took in a shaky breath. "Into 'the pit'."

"Describe 'the pit' to me," the Dr requested.

"You feel alone, even in a room filled with people. You're always sad. Always struggling. It's like quicksand, the more you try to free yourself, the deeper you sink. It's easier to just let it swallow you up."

"When you were with Chandler, you were happy. That was your lifeline. Did you not see it?"

"I was afraid," she admitted.

"Of what?"

"I was happy with him, yeah, but then the sadness returned! It wasn't going to release its grip on me! He would try to help me out, but I would have taken him with me, back down! It's like a raging river. The current was too strong."

"So, you felt he would be in danger, if he tried to help you."

"Yeah," she whispered.

"Ok," the Dr continued, "You wrote a suicide note, before going out onto your balcony…"

Monica nodded. "Yeah."

"What was going through your mind when you were writing it?"

Shrugging, she said, "I don't remember. Before I started writing it, I remember thinking that he would blame himself for my death, if I didn't tell him not to. If I didn't explain. But while writing it, I don't really remember what I was thinking about specifically. I just remember pouring my soul into it."

"Then what happened?" Dr Wagner asked.

"I stared out the window, at the rain falling, for, I don't even know how long. Then, I climbed out the window, and sat on the ledge of the balcony. I was getting wet, but I didn't care. I remember starting to cry, but I'm not sure why I was. I knew if I waited much longer, I would change my mind. Lose my nerve. So, I carefully stood up, balancing on the ledge." 

"I don't remember how long I was standing there," she continued, "Time seemed to stand still, but then I heard Chandler call my name. He asked me what I was doing, and he tried to come near me, but I told him to stop."

"Why?"

"Because, I didn't want him to help me."

"Why didn't you want him to help you?"

"I told you. Because I would've taken him with me."

"Into the pit?"

"Yeah."

"Then what happened?"

"I told him it was a mistake. Sleeping together. That I was too messed up to make a relationship work, and I would just mess him up in the process of trying. I told him I was scared of losing him as a friend, and he told me he would always be my friend. I told him the depression was too big. That I was drowning in it, but he told me he would swim in and save me. That's when I knew."

"What did you know?"

"I knew we could never go back, to what we had before. Friendship, hanging out and laughing. As long as I was around, he would be sad, cause **I** was sad. I couldn't do that to him."

"Go on," the Dr encouraged.

"He told he needed me, and that he loved me. I don't remember anything after that."

"You don't remember jumping?"

Monica shook her head.

"Chandler?" Dr Wagner addressed him, sympathetic as she watched him wipe the tears from his eyes. "What do you remember?"

He shook his head, "I don't want to do this."

"Why not?" she asked.

"It's too hard," he answered softly.

"I know it is," she told him, "But it's important to get it out in the open."

"Why? So we can all feel sad? I don't **want to feel sad anymore!"**

"Please, Chandler," Monica interjected, and he looked over at her, surprised. "I want to hear this. I want to know what **you remember."**

After sighing heavily, he nodded, clearing his throat. "I woke up, I don't know how long I was asleep for, and I looked around the room, but you weren't there. I checked the bathroom, and Rachel's room; I even thought about going across the hall, to see if you had gone over there for some reason. But then I saw you. On the balcony, standing on the ledge." 

"I climbed out the window as fast as I could," he continued, his voice strained as he tried to hold it together. "And I called to her; she looked terrified, and she was soaking wet. I asked her what she was doing, but she didn't answer me. When she turned to face me, she almost lost her balance, and I tried to help her, but she told me not to, so I backed away."

"Why didn't you help anyway?"

"I thought if I tried, she would jump. I thought I could **talk her down."**

"Go on," the Dr requested.

"She said she had ruined everything, by sleeping with me, and that we could never make a relationship work, and would subsequently lose me as a friend. I told her I would **never** stop being her friend." 

"She said she was scared," he went on, "And that she felt like she was drowning. I told her I would swim in and save her, but she said it was too strong. That she wasn't even sure she **wanted to be saved."**

"I begged her to let me try," he continued, his voice betraying his emotion. "I told her that I needed her, and that I loved her. She looked lost. Like the Monica I knew wasn't even **in there anymore. She said she loved me too, then she turned and jumped." **

"It happened so fast!" he exclaimed. "I remember screaming, and running to try and grab her, but I only caught a tiny bit of the shirt she was wearing. It slipped out of my hand."

"Then what did you do?"

"I saw her hit the ground, with a sickening thud, and I screamed her name, two or three times, before running out the door and down the steps to go outside."

He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. "She landed on a pile of old insulation and carpeting that was left out on the sidewalk. They were re-carpeting one of the units in our building. That's **probably** what saved her life. Some guy passing by gave me his umbrella to shield her from the rain, and he called 9-1-1 on his cell phone."

"I could tell she was still alive," he remembered, "Cause I could see her breathing, and I kept talking to her, waiting for the ambulance to get there."

"What did you say to her?"

"That I loved her. To hold on, cause help was on the way. Stuff like that."

"Then what happened?"

"Um, our friend Gunther came out of the coffeehouse, where he works," he recalled with effort. "He was working late that night, and he offered to run upstairs and get me some clothes, cause I was only in my boxers and was freezing my butt off. When the ambulance got there, I told them what happened. They said I could ride with her to the hospital, but once we got there, they whisked her away, and I didn't see her again for hours. It was like torture."

"And your nervous breakdown? Tell me about that," the Dr requested.

"Why?" he asked. "How would me talking about **that help Monica?"**

"Well, in a way, isn't Monica responsible for your breakdown?" Dr Wagner asked. "Shouldn't she know what her actions did to you?"

For Monica, it was easy to see what the Dr was doing. She was playing devil's advocate, pushing buttons to get a reaction out of Chandler, to bring out emotions he had long since buried. She'd done the same thing with Monica, when she first started going to her.

In time, Monica learned to open up to the woman, but in the beginning, she guarded her feelings carefully, just like Chandler was doing now. With a bowed head, Monica sat silently and allowed the Dr to do her job.

"What?!" he asked, indignant. "What kind of doctor **are you?"**

"What?" the Dr feigned innocence. "Isn't it her fault? Whose fault **is** it, if it's not hers?"

"It's not **anyone's** fault!" he shot back. "I hadn't slept in **hours**! I hadn't eaten, and I'd had a million cups of coffee!"

"Yes, maybe, but **that** won't cause you to have a nervous breakdown, Chandler."

"It lent to the situation! It didn't **cause it!"**

"But there was something that **caused it. Something that you have been avoiding, because it's easier than facing it."**

"It was a stressful situation," he argued. "We didn't know if she was going to die."

"And who is 'we'?" the Dr interjected.

"Me. Her friends. Her brother."

"Ross, right?"

He sighed, irritated by her seemingly disorganized questions. "Yes. Ross."

"Weren't you arguing with him when you collapsed?"

His exasperated expression softened slightly, and he fidgeted as he answered. "Um, yeah."

"What was that argument about?"

He glanced at Monica out of his peripheral vision, then cleared his throat anxiously. "I admitted to him that Monica and I had been… intimate."

"Was he angry?"

"Surprised, I think, more than angry."

"What did he say to you?"

"He asked me how I could do something like that. How would it be helpful to her?"

"What was your answer?"

"I told him that **she** came on to **me**, and that she seemed too frail to take the rejection."

"So, the only reason you slept with her is because you didn't want to upset her by saying no?"

There was a long pause before he replied, his voice quiet. "No. I didn't initially push her away, because she seemed too frail, but that's not why I slept with her."

"Why did you sleep with her, Chandler?"

Taking a deep breath, he announced, "I didn't want to do this like this."

"I don't understand," the Dr told him, requesting further explanation.

Obviously annoyed with the woman across from him, he threw her a look before facing Monica, giving her hand a squeeze when he realized he was still holding it. "I made love to you that night, because… I'm in love with you, Monica. I probably shouldn't have. Make love to you, I mean," he clarified, "Because you were so vulnerable and sad, but, when you said you wanted me… I believed you…"

"I meant it," she told him softly. "I **did want you. I still do."**

"This is **so** not how I wanted this to be," he whispered. "I wanted to take you to a fancy dinner, and dancing. I wanted there to be wine and soft music, when we had this discussion. I wanted it to be special," he added.

Monica smiled. "You could have said those words in the middle of a trash barge, and it **still** would've been special."

He couldn't help but chuckle. "The smell would make it memorable, I'm sure."

"Let's talk about the breakdown now," Dr Wagner suggested, gaining their attention.

"We're seriously going to do this?" he asked, and the Dr nodded. With a shrug, he said, "I was stressed, and I felt guilty. I thought I drove her to do it. I thought I was the last straw, so to speak, that made her want to end her life. I thought I was going to lose her, having never told her my feelings for her. I thought Ross was going to kill me, for doing that to his sister. I wanted him to," he added sadly.

"Kill you?" Dr Wagner asked, and he nodded slowly. "What changed? What made you decide that dying wasn't the answer?"

"Well, I got some sleep, for one," he joked, and the Dr cracked a tiny smile, but nothing more. "Her note," he admitted, continuing. "I read her note, and I realized, I wasn't the reason she wanted to die."

"Why do **you** think she wanted to die?"

"Because she didn't think the sadness would ever stop. Because she didn't think she would ever be happy again, and she couldn't live life like that."

"Do you think her reasoning is justified?"

"There **is** no good reason to throw yourself off a balcony," he replied, his annoyance of the question showing through, "But I realize, at the time, she didn't have the ability to reason."

"But, she had enough wits about her to write you a note," the Dr reminded.

Chandler just stared at her for a moment, then asked, "Do you **hate** Monica or something?"

Dr Wagner laughed. "Of course I don't hate her. Why do you ask?"

"Cause, your questions seem, **to me, like you are trying to convince me to be angry with her. Or hate her or something."**

"Not at all, Chandler. I'm trying to reach you, emotionally. If I don't challenge your point of view, you are more likely to spout off answers that **others** want to hear, instead of how you **really** feel."

"Well, I **really** feel like you need to stop it. I don't **blame** Monica for her depression, or for the attempted suicide, or for my nervous breakdown. I think she wrote the note, because she cared enough about me, and her friends and family, to do so. Even while so depressed and despondent, her love for us was **so** strong, that while she was ready to end her life, she was thinking about **us! I think that says a lot about her, don't you?"**

The Dr smiled and nodded. "Absolutely. But, answer me this, Chandler. If she had so much love for you and her friends and family, why didn't she think about how her death would affect you and them?"

**TO BE CONTINUED**…

Ok, I have run out of witty comments for the time being, so, I'll just say this…

PLEASE REVIEW!

Please?

MTLBYAKY


	9. 9

The One Where Mercury Continues

Original story by: Ezika

Continued with permission. Thanks, Ezika!

Continuation by: Jana~

Chapter Nine

*********

--"Answer me this, Chandler," Dr Wagner requested, "If she had so much love for you and her friends and family, why didn't she think about how her death would affect you?"

"A mind that is depressed doesn't usually reason like a mind that **isn't** depressed."

"Sounds like you've done a lot of reading on the subject," Dr Wagner stated, watching him intently for his response.

A neutral expression was all he gave her as he stared back at her. "I have internet access," he eventually muttered.

"Why are you so bothered by me?" the Dr asked, curious.

"I don't like the mind games shrinks play," he told her.

"You think I'm playing mind games with you?"

"Aren't you?" he asked, indignant.

"No, Chandler, I'm not. Believe it or not, I care about Monica. I care about helping her to get well, and be a confident woman again. But, part of that requires her to understand how her actions affected those she's closest with. And, Chandler, she's closest with **you. Of all the people who enrich her life, she talks about ****you the most. And I find it fascinating, that with as close to you as she is, you both have chosen ****not to discuss her attempted suicide, or your true feelings for one-another."**

"It wasn't the right time," he explained, "To discuss our feelings. Relationships are hard, especially for **me, and I didn't want to jump into anything, until I was sure-"**

He stopped abruptly, and the Dr instantly knew he had because he was about to divulge something. "Go on, Chandler. Say it."

"I wanted to be sure, that if I did something stupid, that it wouldn't drive her over the edge again."

"Like what?" she asked. "What might you do, to drive her over the edge?"

With a shrug, he confessed, "I'm not good at relationships. Every one I've ever had, I've managed to destroy, one way or another. I have issues with commitment, and, sometimes, I do and say stupid things, I usually don't mean, because I get… scared."

"What are you scared of?"

"That I'll mess her up, or lose her."

"Mess her up, how?"

"I don't know," he muttered. "Like I said before, what if I say something, and I upset her **so** bad, she wants to kill herself?"

"Do you think that's a possibility?" the Dr asked, but he only shrugged in response. "Monica, tell Chandler what you told me last week," she instructed.

"I said, I was nervous about starting anything, too soon, because I don't know how well I'd be able to handle it, if- if you left me."

"I won't **ever** leave you, Mon," he told her. "Even if we're not a couple, I will **always be your friend. I just don't want to hurt you, or cause you to hate me, so that ****you'll wanna leave **me**."**

"That won't happen," she assured him. "I know you have relationship issues," she added, "And I wouldn't leave you because of them. I might ask that we see a counselor for them, and I **know how much you love shrinks."**

Chandler laughed. "For **you, I would go to one every day, happily. I'm ****here aren't I?"**

She smiled back at him. "Yes, you are."

***

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

--It seemed surreal. He'd only known her for six-something weeks. How could they be getting married?

"How you holdin up?"

Monica turned to see Chandler standing in the doorway. "I'm fine."

He smiled, walking towards her, pulling his friend into an embrace. "Is that the truth, or what you think I want to hear?"

"No, really, I'm ok. It's sudden, but I'm happy for them."

"And how could a trip to London be bad?" he asked, pulling back and grinning at her.

"Always looking for that bright side, huh?" she teased, resuming her task of packing.

"Of course," he said in response, then pointed at her suitcase. "Why are you packing **now**? The trip isn't for a few days."

"I know, but I don't like waiting till the last second."

He nodded in acceptance of her answer, then stepped over to raid her fridge. "How is Rachel doing?"

"Ok," Monica returned with a shrug. "As well as can be expected, seeing as how her ex-boyfriend is getting married, and she was dumped by her current boyfriend."

With a sigh, he popped open his bottle of Yoohoo, taking a sip before muttering, "I can't believe she's not going."

"She says it'll be too hard. To see him get married to someone else."

"She's still in love with him, isn't she?"

"She says she's not, but, Phoebe and I both think she is."

"Denial," he whispered, and she nodded.

"Yeah."

After a moment of silence, he stepped up next to her, putting his hand on her shoulder, placing a soft peck of a kiss on her forehead. "If you want to talk, I'm right across the hall."

"I know," she said with a smile, "And thanks."

*****

--Sounds of laughter and lively chitchat filled the hall, no one concerned or even aware of the one woman and one man who wasn't a part of any of it. Weddings are happy events, and the rehearsal dinner was a celebration of what the next day held: the marriage of Ross and Emily.

But it wasn't the impending ceremony that caused Monica to cry, or being homesick, like Joey was. It was something else entirely. The trip to London lost its charm completely, when the staggering British guy insulted her.

Near panic, Chandler struggled with what to say to her, to stop her crying, to console her. Something. Anything.

"He was drunk!" he announced. "There's no way you look like Ross' mother!"

"Then why would he say it?" Monica challenged.

"Because he's crazy! Earlier, he thanked me for my very moving performance in Titanic!"

"Chandler," she said with a sigh, "Get me out of here, ok?"

"And go where?"

"To get drunk?" she said, it more of a question than an answer.

"Do you really think that's the best solution?"

"Of course it's not the **best solution!" she shot back, "But it's what I want to do."**

He shook his head, putting his arm around her and walking her towards the door. "I have a better idea."

*

--Holding her tight to him, he swayed to the music that played on the hotel room's stereo, sighing contentedly at how perfect they fit together.

"Feeling any better?" Chandler whispered, and she nodded against his shoulder.

"You always know just what I need," Monica said with a far-away lilt to her voice. "Why is that?"

His heart rate soared, and he took in a shaky breath as he heard himself admit to her, "Because I love you."

He'd said those words dozens of times, but there was something in the way he said it that called her attention. Pulling back, her eyes met his, and she knew.

"I love you, too, Chandler," she whispered, her arms snaking around his neck as her lips neared his.

It was thrilling and frightening, all balled up into a wonderful sensation of being **so** right, and without words, they knew their relationship was about to change forever. For the better.

*****

**FIVE YEARS LATER**

--So much crap to sort through. Boxes and boxes had already been moved, and still there was more crap. It's what comes from living in the same place for so many years.

"Half this shit is just, **shit," she mumbled to herself, tossing her husband's items in the box marked 'Chandler's junk'. If she didn't love him with every ounce of her soul, she would've given his excessive junk to some charity years ago.**

Careful so as not to throw away any important papers, she opened and glanced at each letter and note before deciding if it was to be saved or trashed.

"Shopping list from a million years ago – trash," she mumbled, tossing it in the trashbag she had set up next to the bed. "Note from Joey about the meatball sub in the fridge – trash." She pulled out the next pile of papers, smiling when she heard her husband's voice fill their apartment.

"Hello my wife, love of my life, and mother to my unborn baby, I am home!" he announced, and her smile grew wider.

"Ya'know," she called back, "You can just call me Monica. It saves time."

He poked his head into their room, leaning against the doorframe. "But it's not as fun," he told her, smiling at her. "What we doin?"

"Packing your crap," she replied, looking flustered.

"I told you, you don't have to do that. I'll do it! You should be resting," he added as he gently touched her swollen stomach.

"Then nothing will get tossed!" she returned. "The house is bigger, but it doesn't mean I want to fill it with trash."

"One person's trash is another's treasure," he defended, rescuing a hat out of the trash and brushing it off. "Hey!" he complained, holding it up.

"Are you **seriously** **ever** going to wear that?"

He sighed, conceding, "No. Probably not." She nodded, then pointed back towards the trashbag. He took the hint and tossed it back in.

"Thank you," she muttered, then picked up a piece of paper from the pile and opened it by tugging at the bent corners of it.

When the writing came into view, she gasped, staring down at it.

"What?" he asked, looking over to see what she held. He recognized it immediately.

"You saved it?" she asked, her voice a shaky whisper, and he nodded. "Why?"

With a shrug, he said, "I don't exactly know. So much was said, in that one letter. I couldn't just throw it away, like it was trash. It's clearly **not** trash."

The words on the paper blurred as tears filled her eyes, and she carefully folded it, set it in the box of stuff to be saved, then stood and wrapped her arms around her husband, her pregnant roundness pressing against him.

"I love you," she whispered, and he smiled as he rest his chin softly atop her head.

"I love you, too," he assured her. "Completely and forever."

Just then, they both felt a kick from their unborn child, and Chandler pulled back and smiled.

"Joey is already cutting in on our private moments," he joked, and Monica smiled, placing her hand over his as it stroked her belly.

"We're not **seriously** going to name him Joey, are we?"

"We promised Joey senior we would," Chandler reminded, "When he caught us conceiving him, the night we were watching Emma."

"I know," she muttered in complaint, "But I really had my heart set on Daniel."

"Well, maybe we can talk Joey into allowing his Godson to carry his middle name instead."

She wrinkled her nose. "Frances? Daniel Frances?"

Chandler smirked. "Well, ok, what about Daniel Joseph?"

A slight smile showed itself as she considered the name. "Daniel Joseph Bing." With a nod she announced, "I like that."

"I'll talk him into it," Chandler told her. "Your happiness is more important to me than his is."

"Well, I should **hope** so!" she exclaimed teasingly. "Since I'm the one who could potentially withhold sex from you!"

"Well," he joked, "Joey can **too, but it doesn't hold the same weight when ****he withholds it."**

"Thank you for that visual," she jokingly grumbled, waddling out of the room and for the kitchen as Chandler followed behind. "I need some tea."

"Want me to make it for you?" he offered.

"I got it," she assured him. "I'm pregnant, not an invalid. Besides," she added, "You don't do it right."

"How many ways **are** there to place a tea bag in a cup of hot water?"

"At least two," she said in response. "My way and the wrong way."

Shaking his head, he chuckled at his wife's comment, noting how her belly jumped as their baby kicked within it.

Since being pregnant, Monica carried with her an extra temperature: that of the baby. Especially in the later months of the pregnancy, she often wore her shirt riding high and her pants or shorts riding low, exposing her pregnant belly in an attempt to be comfortable. If he watched closely, he could often see the baby's movements as his wife puttered about the apartment. 

Chandler liked the look, but Monica never did sport it in public. It was only for his eyes, or their friends', if they happened to come by unannounced, which was actually fairly often.

Even while with child, she loved being the hostess. When her love of entertaining came back, it was one of the sure signs to all who know and love her, that she was over her depression.

The smile faded from Chandler's face as he remembered that dark time. So long ago, but seeming like yesterday. Finding the note brought it all back to the surface of his mind, and her reaction to him keeping it for all those years surprised him.

"Monica?"

"Hmm?" she answered absently, steeping the tea bag in her hot water.

"Does it bother you that I kept your note?"

There was a slight yet noticeable pause in her actions before she replied. "No, it doesn't **bother** me. It surprises me though."

"What did you **think** I did with it?"

"I wasn't sure," she admitted. "I probably should've asked, huh?"

He watched as she eased herself onto one of the diningroom chairs with her tea, and he moved slowly as he joined her. "So, ask now."

"What do you mean?" she asked. "I know **now that you kept it."**

"You know what I mean," he told her, reaching across the table to take her hand in his. "Like Dr Wagner used to say, let's open a dialog."

She smiled, which brought a smile to his face in return. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Us. The baby. The move. Whatever you want," he answered.

"Are you concerned?" she questioned him, "That all those things will take me back to that place?"

"No," he told her emphatically. "I want to know if **you have any concerns."**

"It's always in the back of my mind," she said with a sigh. "That, what **if** something happens, and I fall back into the pit."

"What will you do, if you feel yourself falling?"

"Sweetie," she whispered, "I know to lean on you, if I feel lost. I won't shut you out."

"You'll be honest with me?" he asked. "Even if you think what you're feeling is 'nothing'?"

Nodding, she assured him, "I promise."

For a moment, all he did was stare back at her, conveying the importance of what he was about to request of her. "Tell me about the nightmares."

"What nightmares?" she asked. "I haven't had any nightmares-"

"Maybe not recently," he interrupted, "But before…"

As abruptly as her condition allowed, she stood and waddled towards the sink, to throw the used tea bag away and rinse the plate it sat on. "That was so many years ago," she muttered. "I don't see why-"

"Monica?" he interrupted, and she stopped her busy activity and shut off the water, her back still to him.

"With everything we've shared, that's the **one thing you never talked to me about. Please," he pleaded, "I want to know."**

"No," she sighed. "You don't."

"Why?" he asked, standing. "Why don't I?"

She turned around to face him, leaning against the counter. "I don't want to revisit that place, Chandler. I don't want to relive it."

"What are you afraid of?" he asked, running the back of two fingers gently down her face.

"I hate that place," she said quietly, through gritted teeth. "It swallowed me up, and nearly killed me, and I don't want to give it satisfaction by reliving it, or talking about it." Taking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly, she willed herself to relax and unclench.

"Sweetie, I'm not trying to upset you," he soothed, pulling her into an embrace.

"Why is it so important that you know?" she whispered.

"You had them almost nightly for close to a year," he reminded. "They were so upsetting to you, that you climbed into bed with me, begging me to hold you and protect you from them. But, you never told me what was in them."

"I thought it would be better left unsaid."

"Why?" he asked, pulling back and making eye contact.

"I didn't want to freak you out," she admitted. "The dreams… were about you."

"What about me?"

"I need to sit down," she told him, gesturing towards the couch, and he quickly moved aside so she could lead the way into the livingroom.

Joining her on the couch, he waited patiently for her to begin.

**TO BE CONTINUED**…

Ok, one chapter left after this. I really enjoyed writing this one, and I know that might seem like an odd comment, because of the subject matter, but Ezika wrote such a powerful story, that just begged to be continued, I just felt really honored to be able to do that. It was an emotional roller coaster, putting myself in the character's positions, to get the feelings as realistic as possible, but it was worth it.

Please, take a moment to review, and if you haven't yet, you should read Ezika's original story. It can be found on fanfiction.net

MTLBYAKY


	10. 10

The One Where Mercury Continues

Original story by: Ezika

Continued with permission. Thanks, Ezika!

Continuation by: Jana~

Chapter Ten

**********

--Placing a coaster on the coffee table, Monica set her cup of tea on top of it, settled back into the couch cushions, avoiding her husband's gaze.

"They weren't all exactly the same," she finally began, "But one recurred more than any other."

"Ok," he acknowledged her, waiting for her to continue.

"I'm in bed, and I look over, and you're not there. I call to you, but there's no answer. Suddenly, I feel something grab me. It's stronger than I am, and it's angry. It hates me. I scream your name, and beg you to save me, but, you don't come to my rescue." 

"The **thing** drags me to this forest. It's very dark. Creepy. I'm exhausted from trying to fight, to get away, so I just stop trying. We reach this clearing, and I beg for my release, but **it** can't be reasoned with. I'm crying when I ask it, why it hates me. It just laughs at me. Then, it turns me around, ready to throw me into this dark pit, and I see-"

She stopped abruptly, debating whether or not to continue, when Chandler reached over and grasped her hand in support.

"You can tell me," he assured her, and she closed her eyes as a tear trickled down her cheek.

"The **thing**," she whispered, her eyes still closed, "Was you."

"The **thing**, the monster that threw you into the pit, was **me**?" he asked, stunned, and she nodded in response. "You could see that it was me?" he asked. "You could see my face?" Again, she nodded. "Why? Why was I doing that to you?"

"I don't know," she told him, slowly opening her eyes to look at him. "Dr Wagner said that, maybe, subconsciously, I thought you were mad at me, or **should** be mad at me, for doing what I did. For not allowing you to help me."

"I've never been mad at you," he stated firmly. "I know it wasn't your fault."

"I know," she said with a slight smile. "And, after a bit of therapy, the nightmares stopped. Because I realized that. It's just, at that time, you were still feeling guilt, because you couldn't 'save me', and I didn't want you to think my dreams had to do with **that. That **I** saw you, even subconsciously, as the reason, or the final straw, for why I jumped."**

He nodded in understanding of her rationale. "You said there were other dreams," he mentioned, reminding her. "What were **they about?"**

"Some were just, reliving it. Some had the **thing, but it wasn't ****you. You were also there, trying to save me. Sometimes, it would take me to the forest and throw me into the pit, other times, it would throw me off the balcony. In some of them, it would throw you, too, or you would try to grab me, and fall with me. There were a few where you could see the **thing**, and you would try to reason with it. In others, only ****I could see it." With a sigh, she added, "Lots of variations on the same thing, basically."**

"If it was **me** who was throwing you into the pit, why did you come to me and beg me to protect you from the nightmare?" he asked, somewhat confused. "You would think, that you would be afraid of me."

She shook her head. "I knew my dreams, my subconscious, was lying to me. I knew it was trying to take away the one thing I knew I could count on… **you**… and turn it against me, so I would feel lost again, and go back to that place."

"Why do you think, part of you didn't want to leave 'that place'?"

"I don't know," she admitted, "But I know whatever it was that wanted me there, is gone now."

Chandler pulled his wife into his arms. "I will fight it till the death, if it ever comes back and tries to take you from me."

Monica smiled, feeling safe in his arms, knowing for as long as he loved her, she would be safe from the demons that tried to swallow her whole.

***

--Chandler sorted through his belongings, making good on his promise to throw away at least **some** of his 'crap', as Monica called it. As he placed items in the box she marked just for him, he saw the letter, sitting atop all the other items, and with a shaky breath and a glance into the livingroom, he removed it from the box. Slowly, he opened it, that day coming back in a rush of emotion as he read the words contained within the pages.

**THE LETTER**

'Chandler, soon, my pain will be over, but I fear my death will cause you pain that you do not deserve. I just can't fight it anymore. I'm just so tired. I'm tired of feeling like this. Tired of seeing no end in sight to this overwhelming sadness that consumes me.

You know how, if you're faced with a task that seems insurmountable, you just want to shut down? That's how I feel. It's not even about Richard breaking up with me, or the loss of the baby anymore. It's more than that. So much more. Too much more. More than any human should have to be faced with.

I tried to be strong. I tried to fight it, but it's no use. And I'm so sorry.

I'm sorry for being so weak, and for hurting you. This isn't your fault, Chandler. You didn't do anything wrong, and you didn't take advantage of me. I wanted to be with you, but, it was a mistake. I can see that now. I can't make a relationship work, not like this. I don't even know who I am anymore. How can I give you my heart, if my heart is this damaged?

I wish it could have been different. I wish I wasn't so lost and doomed. I know if I allowed myself, I could really fall for you. Why did I not see it before? Before my heart and soul was swallowed up?

You're asleep in my bed right now, and I want more than anything to forget this thing I'm about to do, and crawl in beside you, but I can't. As much as I want to be happy again, I know now, that will never happen.

Thank you for being there for me, Chandler. You are a true friend, in every sense of the word, and I will miss you. Please, never forget me, but don't grieve too long for me, and don't blame yourself for anything.

To my parents, I'm sorry I was such a disappointment to you. I don't know what I could have done differently, to make you proud of me, but I would have done it, if I had known what it was you wanted. I love you both, and I'm sorry for this final disappointment.

To Ross, you've been the best big brother a sister could ask for. You're not just my brother, but my friend, and I know this will be hard on you, but you have to be strong, ok? You have so much going on in your life, with your son, and with Rachel. Don't dwell on my death. Be there for them. They need you. And, some day, tell Ben about me?

To Rachel, Phoebe, and Joey, you all are great friends, and I'm sorry to do this to you guys. I hope you can understand, I'm just too tired to keep going like this. Rachel, don't lose it over my death, ok? Lean on Ross, he'll help you through it. Phoebe, if you're right about being able to come back as a ghost, look for me. Joey, look after Chandler for me please? He will blame himself for my death, I know he will, and it's not his fault. Convince him of that? Remember to mention me in your speech, when you win your first Oscar, ok?

I love you all.

Goodbye.'

*

--Chandler forced the tears that welled in his eyes not to fall as he folded the letter and placed it back in the box. Gaining his composure first, he stepped out into the livingroom, where his wife slept on the couch, and he knelt down beside her, stroking her hair gently.

Monica startled awake, looking over at him, "Has it been an hour already?" she asked, and he smiled.

"No," he answered, "And I'm sorry for waking you early, but I needed to touch you."

"Needed to?" she asked, confused. "Why?"

"I reread your note," he admitted, "And I just needed to be near you right now."

With a smile, she moved to sit up, and he helped her, then sat on the cushion next to her, his arm around her as he inched closer. "I have an idea," he told her softly, "But I don't want to upset you."

"You can tell me," she insisted.

"What do you think, about doing something symbolic with your letter?"

Unsure of what he was suggesting, she asked, "Like what?"

He shrugged. "Not sure. Burn it? Shred it and throw it off the balcony? I don't know, just, something that shows we're both moving past it. We **are** moving past it," he added, "Aren't we?"

Nodding against his shoulder, she whispered, "We are. Definitely."

After holding her tighter for a brief moment, he asked, "So, what do you think of my idea?"

"I think it's a good one. Maybe we should ask Phoebe," she added. "She's good with symbolism and such."

He muttered in agreement before moving to kiss her.

***

--"I have the perfect symbolic gesture," Phoebe announced excitedly, thrilled to be included in something so significant. "First we burn the letter, then, we bury the ashes! It's like, symbolizing the death of that dark time."

"A funeral for a suicide note?" Ross asked, skeptical, but Rachel nudged him. "I'm just saying," he muttered defensively, then returned his attention to his young daughter, Emma.

"I think it's a good idea," Rachel interjected, kissing Emma's head before sitting in Joey's lap; his arm immediately snaked around her waist.

"So do I," Joey added, resting his chin on his girlfriend's shoulder.

"You're just saying that cause Rachel said it," Ross complained, and Rachel glared back at him.

"Monica?" Chandler asked, "What do **you think?"**

"I like it." She whispered her response, as if speaking any louder would be somehow disrespectful of the importance to the plan.

Lightly, he grasped her hand, "I do, too," he admitted, his voice as quiet as hers. "When should we do it?" he asked the group, and all but Phoebe looked back at him with confused expressions. "You're going to do it with us," Chandler asked, "Right?"

Phoebe nodded right away, and soon Joey and Rachel followed, then they all looked over at Ross.

"Fine," he conceded, "But we should find a babysitter for Emma." He directed the statement at Rachel, who nodded.

"I'll ask my mom," Rachel added, frowning when Ross scoffed at her choice. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," he replied sarcastically. "I'll just make sure poison control is aware of the situation."

"Oh, Ross, would you chill!" Rachel shot back. "She only let her play with an **empty** prescription bottle that one time!"

"If it was **empty**," he challenged, "Then why did it **rattle**?"

"Oh, I don't know," Rachel returned snippily, "Maybe she put what's left of your pea-brain in there!"

"Oh, ha, ha," Ross grumbled. "Very funny. Look, I just don't think allowing a small child to play with medications or the containers they come in is a very smart thing to do-"

"If you had **your** way," she barked, "Emma would live in a bubble!"

"Oh, that is **so** not true! You just can't admit-"

Without saying a word, Joey helped Rachel off his lap, stood, and took Emma from Ross' arms.

"What are you doing?" Rachel finally asked, as she watched Joey head for the door.

Turning around to face her, he said, "I'm taking her across to our apartment, until the bickering stops. She shouldn't be around it," he added, scolding them both.

Ross and Rachel looked at one-another guiltily, then softly apologized to one-another.

"And you should apologize to your daughter," Joey stated firmly, holding the small child in his other arm so she could see her parents, and vice-versa.

"Sorry, Emma," they both muttered, and Rachel reached out to take her daughter from her boyfriend.

"**And**," he added, "You should apologize to Chandler and Monica! They're trying to do this deep, important thing for their relationship, and you guys just can't stop the bitching for five seconds!"

Both Ross and Rachel, in turn, apologized to Chandler and Monica, who smiled as they accepted.

"You don't have to apologize to me," Phoebe chimed in. "But you **do** need to figure out how to be in the same room without the constant squabbling. You have a child together, for crying out loud!" she added.

Hanging their heads, Rachel said softly, "We're working on it." Ross nodded along.

"Work harder," Phoebe told them, then turned back to Monica. "When do you want to have the funeral?"

"And, where would we have it?" Chandler asked.

"We'll have the ceremony **here," Phoebe suggested, "Then head over to Central Park for the burial."**

"Isn't that illegal?" Ross asked, and Phoebe looked back at him.

"Only if you get caught," she said, deadpan.

"How's tomorrow sound?" Monica asked the group, and slowly, after running their agendas through their heads first, they all nodded.

***

--There was a feeling that something important was accomplished, but melancholy faces were worn none-the-less, as the six friends entered the coffeehouse that was like their second home.

Not knowing exactly what to do or say, they all sat in silence, the only words muttered were their drink orders to Gunther. It was Monica who spoke up first, feeling as if the gang was waiting for her to lead the way.

"I feel a sense of closure."

Chandler gently squeezed his wife's hand supportively, nodding along.

"The vibe the letter carried was lifted, when we burned it," Phoebe explained. "It was respectful to the importance, but also showed our desire to leave it in the past, and move away from it."

"It seems like a hundred years ago, but also like it was yesterday," Joey stated, a comment that to anyone else, might have seemed stupid, or contradictory, but his close friends understood him perfectly.

"It seems like another lifetime," Rachel added, inching closer to Joey on the couch and entwining her fingers in his. "So much has happened." 

Her thoughts immediately drifted to the fight that drove a wedge permanently between her and Ross. To the time they slept together as a belated 'bonus night' and created Emma. To when Joey declared his love for her, and the time it took her to get over the shock of that and discover her true feelings for him. To the way Ross reacted to the news that her and Joey were going to try to make a relationship work.

"So much has happened," she repeated, as if in a world of her own.

"You said that already," Ross informed, ignoring the glare she gave in return. 

He knew he was nitpicking, when he did stuff like that to her, but he usually realized it after the fact. Deep down, he knew that 'Ross and Rachel' would never be, that too much was said and done to ever make that a possibility, but it was still hard to take at times. Especially when he was witness to the new love her and Joey shared. It was like that for them, so many years ago. A lifetime ago, as Rachel had put it.

Was he so petty that he couldn't be happy for his friends? He wanted to be happy for them, and, bottom line, he **was** happy for them, it was just his pride that got in the way at times, inducing comments that showed a side of him he was not at all proud of. It would take time, and effort, but he knew eventually, he would be able to be in the same room with them without feeling resentment.

"It's like we closed the book on that chapter of our lives," Chandler chimed in, "And the book before us is blank and ready to be written."

"Deep," Joey said with appreciation, receiving a smile from his best friend.

"And Pheebs," Chandler turned to her, "Thanks for doing that for us. And thanks to all of you," he said to the group, "For being there with us. It just wouldn't have been the same, without you guys."

The expressions that past amongst them said it all. Agreement, love, fierce loyalty and protection of the others… it went beyond mere friendship or simple blood relations.

"Here's your coffee, guys," Gunther said as he started handing the drinks over to them from off the heavy tray. "You guys are moving soon, right?" he asked, the question directed towards Chandler and Monica.

"Yeah," she said, accepting the decaf tea from him. "Next week."

He nodded, handing the last mug to Ross. "It won't be the same around here, with you guys not occupying this couch every day."

As he walked away, and the words sunk in, they all looked at one another with an understanding only a close-knit group like them could pick up on.

"Truer words were never spoken."

**THE END**

Well, that's it. I hope you liked it, and I hope I did justice to Ezika's original story. Now, remember, just because it's over doesn't mean you don't have to review! I mean, you don't **have** to review, but, I would be most appreciative if you did! So…

Please review!

MTLBYAKY


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